


What You're Risking Your Life For

by MostTulip



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Childbirth, Death in Childbirth, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, POV Minor Character, POV Multiple, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, R plus L equals J, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 81,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostTulip/pseuds/MostTulip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned Stark does not reach the Tower of Joy before Lyanna Stark gives birth. To protect their future king, the three Kingsguard decide to take Jon Targaryen across the Narrow Sea, so he may be raised with his aunt and uncle. Their ultimate goal is to raise an army and return their king to his rightful kingdom. But as they learn, Westeros is not easy to get to. And there are other challenges they must face if they wish to return home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur I

**Author's Note:**

> I have way too much time on my hands and way too many ideas. Basically this is what could have happened if Jon was taken to the Free Cities with Dany and Viserys. Will have future Jon/Dany, and maybe some other relationships. I'm unsure if Ghost will have a part in this or not. Also, is sort Rhaegar and Lyanna ran away together but also is a bit of Rhaegar kidnapped her. It's complicated and will be explained at some point.
> 
> Rating may change and certain events from the show that are not in the book might occur. Appearances may be based off actors from show for some characters.

The Stark girl was bleeding out. Something had gone wrong with the childbirth. Arthur Dayne was not maester, but it did not take a maester to figure that out. They only had Tera, an midwife from Sunspear. This was something Rhaegar had not considered in his mad plan: the girl might not be able to  _live_ long enough to become his queen. A scream broke him out of his thoughts, and he remembered why it was he was in this room. Nothing in his vows required him to stay here; she was Rhaegar's wife, yes, but her son had been born and he was their king now. If he had been any other man, he might have left the girl who had made the realm bleed. But that was unfair; he loved Rhaegar, as a king, as a brother, but Rhaegar was mad. His prophecy had driven him to war, and his love for this Stark girl had driven him to lock her away in here. No, he was staying because her brother was still miles away, the other two were guarding their tower, and right now, he was her only friend.

Arthur knelt down beside her, and her hand clutched his instinctively. Even as she died, her grip was strong. It was a shame such strength had been born to a girl. If she had been a man, she could have been one of the greatest knights in the realm. But the gods had a sick sense of humor and had cursed her to a life of dresses, courtesies, and betrothals. It was because of this the war had begun in the first place. Her father had tried to control her, restrain her, and had given her to the one man most unfit to do that: Robert Baratheon.

His blood boiled when he thought of that oaf. Robert Baratheon had loved his Lady Lyanna, truly he had. But as they had all learned in their time in this tower, he was in love with a dream. Lyanna Stark was not a lady, was not meant to wear pretty dresses and giggle and be obedient and good. She was fierce - a she-wolf - and in some ways, was more like Robert than a lady. Both of them fought for what they wanted, were stubborn beyond compare, and were blinded by their own wants. Robert by his love, Lyanna by her urge for freedom. Perhaps, if her father had put more thought into things, none of this would have happened.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice weak. She didn't have long, only a few minutes at best. From outside the room, her son's wailing could be heard. A weary smile crossed her face. "Let me see him. Let me hold my son."

Maybe before all this, had she asked that of him, he would have denied her.  _The King must be taken far from here. He is no longer your concern._ But no matter where he stood before, he couldn't deny her this. He called to Tera, who was holding the poor child, and she entered. The baby was swaddled in Arthur's own white cloak. There had been little else to use, and it was old anyway. He wouldn't need it where they were going, besides. She passed him the child, who continued to cry out, and he in turn passed him to Lyanna.

Almost as soon as the child was in her arms, he quieted down. She was his mother, after all. Of course he would find comfort in her. She shushed him, rocking him slowly, back and forth. She was weak, and Arthur was surprised she was managing to hold onto the child. He had no name yet, having only been born some hours ago. They would need a name for their king. It only seemed right that his mother, who he would never know, should be the one to decide.

"Is he here? Has he come?" There was no need to clarify who she meant. Ser Barristan had taken only a small part in all of this, but he was their brother and their friend, even if he was no longer a part of their Kingsguard. When he learned that Lord Eddard Stark was going to Dorne to search for his sister, Barristan had immediately sent a raven. He had no way of knowing that the rightful king was with them, so he only warned them.  _Leave,_ his letter had read,  _save yourselves while you still can. Eddard Stark may not kill you, but Robert Baratheon surely will. Go, my brothers. Go across the Narrow Sea, if you wish. Serve Queen Rhaella and protect her children. The war has been won and there is nothing that can be done about that. I pray that one day, you will forgive me._

There was nothing to forgive Barristan Selmy for. He was an honorable man, a knight of valor. If his king was dead, he would do his duty and protect the next. That was who he was. He had no way of knowing that his next king was here, with them. One day, Arthur hoped they could tell him and that he could join them in their fight for the son of Rhaegar.

"No. Lyanna, I'm sorry. He has not come." It might have been that which had kept her alive for so long. Tera said that she should have died hours ago, not long after the child was born. But Lyanna was nothing if not a fighter. She had fought for her right to be free. She had fought to bring her child into this world. She had fought to see her brother. Now, though, there was not enough time for her to fight any longer. She couldn't hold on forever, and Eddard Stark was still a long ways away.

She gripped his arm, pulling him closer to her. There was desperation in her eyes. She knew that it was almost over, too. Rhaegar was dead, had been killed at the Trident. Aerys had been killed by Ser Jaime, a crime they could not entirely fault him for. Elia and her children had been murdered by Tywin Lannister and his men. Rhaella was across the sea, hopefully kept safe by Ser Willem Darry. All that remained now was her and the three there and her son. Her son who had not been named.

"Promise me," she began, stopping to swallow hard and stop the tears, "promise me you'll look after my son. Protect him, save him, serve him. Please, do not let Robert kill him. Whatever my crimes, whatever my faults, do not blame them on him. Please."

He felt these words had been more prepared for her brother than him. She was asking him to do something that was already his duty. She knew he would have carried this out, regardless if she had asked for it. But she was dying, and a dying mother was allowed to have some wishes for her children. He held her hand that was on his arm. "I promise you, on your old gods, on the Seven, on the Red god across the sea, and the others too. By all the gods, I promise you I will protect your child until my last day."

Lyanna smiled, and the last of her energy left her. She sagged back against the pillows, looking exhausted. "I had hoped to see Ned before this. I guess this is my punishment for all I have done. I will not see my brother and my son will not know me." She let out a humorless laugh. "It is not nearly enough recompense for all that has happened, but it hurts enough that I suppose the gods do not care."

"My lady, my queen," for Rhaegar had married her before he left, "you cannot leave us yet. Not yet." Her eyelids were beginning to droop. He knew that if she slept now, she would never wake from it. "Lyanna, please, do not leave yet. Your son needs a name. Let him have one last gift from his mother."

That did it. Her eyes opened wide, and there was a surprised look in them. It was almost like she had forgotten to take her shoes off in bed rather than name her son before she died. Arthur had taken the boy back, afraid that in her weakening state, Lyanna might drop him. With his help, she held him for the last time. She looked at his face, at his tuft of dark hair and his grey eyes. He would look more like his mother than his father.

"Jon," she finally murmured, so low that Arthur had to lean in to be sure he heard right.

"Jon," she repeated more firmly. He nodded. Rhaegar may have declared that was not a name for a Targaryen - Aerys, too - but neither of them were here now. Jon would fit him better, anyway. He had the appearance of a northerner. A name like Jaehaerys or Daemon might have seemed strange on him.

"Jon," Arthur agreed. The boy fussed in his arms, and he thought how the boy would never be held by his mother again. It brought an ache to his heart. Hadn't there been enough death and suffering from this war and Rhaegar's accursed war? Weren't there enough orphaned boys out there, that had no one? Did the gods have to add another to that list? Were they punishing the boy - Jon - for a crime his parents had committed and not he himself? Or were the gods just cruel like that?

Her grip was slackening, her fingers slipping away. "Arthur," she breathed, voice little more than a whisper. Desperately, he reached for her hand. It was futile; he was trying to hold onto her life, to keep her there with him. Maybe they weren't the best of friends. Maybe she wasn't Ashara and he wasn't Eddard. But for almost a year, she'd been his only friend beside Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell, and he hers. By the gods, he couldn't just let her go without a fight.

"Please, tell . . . tell Ned I'm . . . I'm sorry for . . . all that has . . . happened . . . and the truth . . . and that I . . . I love him . . . so much . . ." With a final sigh, she let her head fall back. The light that had once glowed so brightly in her eyes, the light that had been her will to live and fight, burned out. Only darkness and an empty feeling was left. She was no longer a lively girl that was too young to die. She was now just a corpse, just another story to be told.

He began to weep. How could he not? It was all too much. Rhaegar had been his friend, and now he was gone. His mistakes had brought war to the realm, and so many had payed for it. He held a baby in his arms that wouldn't know its mother or father, would spend most of its life running from shadows. Before him was the body of a girl that had not deserved all this pain, that had only been looking for freedom. It wasn't fair. None of it was.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, holding her lifeless hand and her child, who cried now. He was only broken out of his tears when he felt a firm and gentle hand on his shoulder. Looking away from the girl, he stared up into the eyes of Ser Gerold Hightower. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard's eyes were filled with sadness; Lyanna had been his friend, albeit a short time, too. She was not to be blamed for Rhaegar's mistakes.

"She's-she's," he tried to say, but couldn't bring himself to. Ser Gerold only nodded. He knew. He understood. His hand hadn't left Arthur's shoulder. He was looking down at the baby now, a silent question on his face. "Jon. His name is Jon."

"A good northern name. He will be a good king," Gerold promised, though there was that unspoken thought in there. They'd believed Rhaegar would be a good king, and look what had happened. They could only pray that between themselves and the gods, Jon Targaryen would not take after his mother. "We need to leave soon," Gerold continued. "We're going to have to find passage to Essos. That's where we'll find Ser Willem."

Arthur nodded, not wanting to speak. There wasn't anything to say, really. Their brief princess, or queen, or whatever Lyanna had been was gone now. They had an infant king, a boy prince, and another baby to protect. And mayhaps a Queen Regent, too. They had to leave Westeros, if they were to protect their king. The Tower of Joy had served them well during the war. But it wouldn't be long before someone found them and Robert Baratheon came looking for the boy. They couldn't hide here forever, and the Tower was no place to raise a child.

 

* * *

 

They'd left a note for Ned Stark, as well as Tera and the body of Lyanna Stark. Arthur prayed it would be enough, prayed it would keep Lord Stark from pursuing them. Lyanna had sworn that her brother was not like Robert Baratheon. He hoped she was right. It may have been unwise, leaving the only woman they had at the tower. The three of them took turns holding Jon, feeding him from the goatsmilk they carried. It would run out soon, but thankfully, they were only a day away from Starfall.  _Home,_ he thought to himself.

He had not seen Ashara since the Tourney of Harrenhal. She had been Elia's friend and had stayed with the Princess through it all, faking the anger and rage at Rhaegar's actions. Elia had not been mad, not like Rhaegar. But she had understood he needed to complete this prophecy, needed to have a Visenya for his Aegon. She was unable to give him any more children. So rather than grow angry by it all, she had helped them.

When Rhaegar decided he wanted Lyanna Stark to be his second queen, the mother of his Visenya, she had given him her protests: the girl was too young, she was betrothed, she wanted freedom, it would anger the Starks. Rhaegar had not listened to her, and maybe he should have. Elia's protests had died away, and instead of complaining about it, she sent them Tera, gave them the Tower of Joy. She even wrote to Lyanna, providing her with another friend. She had been the reason why Oberyn had not marched off to the Tower of Joy immediately to kill Rhaegar and throttle Lyanna. Elia Martell was stronger and more intelligent than anyone ever gave her credit for. And now she was dead.

Ashara had done her part, too. She'd given them shelter at Starfall on their way, had spoken with Lyanna and done all she could to help the young she-wolf. It was more than just helping out her friend; Arthur's sister was hopelessly in love with Ned Stark. The two had kissed at the Tourney, she had told him. They'd promised to marry one another after consuming rather too much wine. And when word reached them that he had married Catelyn Tully to gain Hoster Tully's support in the war, her heart had broken.

His sister would hold no ill will towards the child. If anything, its Stark looks would help to ease her heartache. Maybe they could take her with them. There wasn't much left for her. She would be forced to marry some other lord, would have to leave her home. She could never inherit Starfall, and never have Ned Stark. Maybe their mission could give her another purpose.

The road was dusty, the sun hot. Their armor was wearing them down. When they stopped, it wasn't for very long. They didn't know what Ned Stark would choose to do. They had to keep moving. Little Jon was asleep, resting in the crook of Arthur's arm. His white cloak still covered the boy protected his skin from the sun. That was what he did most of the day; he would eat, sleep, and cry. By now they had gotten used to the cycle.

"Up ahead," Ser Oswell called out, his voice dull and raspy from the road. They didn't speak much between one another, as there wasn't much to speak about. Arthur raised his head from where he had been gazing down at Jon, and a smile lit his face. Starfall was just as he remembered, majestic and beautiful and home. He hadn't been there in years, having served in the Kingsguard for many.

As they neared, riders rode out to approach them. They stopped some feet away, shouting, "Halt!"

Arthur was tired and sore and irritable from the long journey. So were the others. Rather than kindly greet them and ask for shelter, he called out to them, "Step aside you fools. Do you not recognize a Dayne when you see one?"

"Ser Arthur?" They asked incredulously, their faces ones of shock and surprise. No one had heard of the fate that had befallen Ser Arthur Dayne and his two brothers in the war. It was as if they had seen a ghost.

"Yes," he snapped, "now are you going to make myself and my fellow Kingsguard here wait in the sun, or will you move so we may enter Starfall?"

The men quickly moved aside, giving hurried, "Yes, Ser," and "Sorry, my lord." He didn't have the time nor strength to correct those who called him lord. Instead, he and the other two urged their horses forward and entered Starfall.

 

* * *

 

Arthur embraced Ashara once they were alone in her room. Jon was sleeping on the bed, having been fed milk from the wetnurse, Wylla, and taken care of. He and Gerold and Oswell had been given food and water and rooms to stay in. They would leave soon, probably in the next day or two, so Arthur made sure to spend a little time with his sister before they left.

"Oh brother, I heard about Rhaegar on the Trident. Robert Baratheon sits the throne now. What will you do?" Her eyes were sorrowful, though they held some joy at being reunited with him again. She had lost so much. He had learned that Brandon Stark had taken her maidenhead at the Tourney of Harrenhal, and left her with a bastard in her belly. The baby, a girl named Allyria, had died not long after birth. And on top of that, Ashara's best friend, Elia, had been brutally raped and murdered along with her own children.

"We are going to take the true king and raise him with his grandmother." He could trust Ashara. Even if her loyalties were not to Elia, she would never betray her own kin.

"Of course, only . . ." she trailed off, a look of regret coming onto her face.

"What, sister? What is it? Has something happened?" Could the gods punish them even more? Had Robert Baratheon found them? Killed them? Smiled at the bodies of little Viserys and the baby that had yet to be born?

She bit her lip, and he saw the pity in her gaze. "Brother, the Queen Regent . . . word reached us that she died birthing her daughter, Daenerys Targaryen. Only Viserys and Daenerys live."

Arthur stepped away as if slapped. The Queen Regent was dead? He ran a hand through his pale hair, shocked to the core.  _Another orphan child._ Like Jon, this Daenerys would grow never knowing her mother or father. The gods were cruel.

"So it's true?" Ashara asked, standing next to where Jon lay. She brushed his cheek with her thumb. "This is the new king? Your new king?" There was no hate in her voice, as he had known, only weary resignation. Of course she would be saddened by the sight; she had only just lost her own child.

"Yes. His name is Jon."

"He looks like Ned," she murmured, more to herself than him. She spoke again, this time directly to him. "Did you see Ned? Did he come to the Tower?"

He shook his head. "No. Lord Stark was on his way, but Lyanna had already died and we were not sure where his loyalties lay."

"You could have trusted him. He would have done nothing to his sister's child." He had suspected as much, though he couldn't be certain.

"Sister," he said, taking her hands in his. "Will you come with us? Jon needs someone to care for him. Daenerys too. I know you have lost your own child, but we could use you." When she turned her head away at the mention of her daughter, he cupped her cheek, bringing her eyes back to his.

"I can't, Arthur. I just- I just don't know anymore." She sat down on the bed, resting her head in her hands. "We have lost so many. I don't know if I can truly deal with this anymore. First Rhaegar, then Elia and sweet Rhaenys and little Aegon. Now Lyanna and Allyria. I just don't know anymore," she repeated, shoulders shaking as she began sobbing. Her words should not have affected him so, but there was something hidden behind them. There was some meaning that he wasn't catching on to. With a start, he realized what it was.

He backed away now, fearful of the truth. She-she couldn't. No, not his sister. She wouldn't. "Ashara, you're not saying-"

"I am!" She screeched, jumping to her feet. The noise had woken Jon, who began crying. Neither of them could spare him a thought, so caught up were they in this sickening realization. "I can't do it anymore! Everyone's gone. They'll give me away, sell me to someone else. I understand why Lyanna ran. I do now. I can't love anyone besides Ned and now's he's gone. I don't have Elia to rely on, to give me strength. I don't have her children to give me happiness and I don't have my own to care for! And you're going to leave me too. You're going to leave me for the king that brought this all upon us! You're going to leave me to protect the cause of so much bloodshed and war!"

Her face was red and tears ran down her cheeks. Arthur could only stare at his sister, unable to move. Gods, she was really thinking about it. She would really do it. All of a sudden, the anger left her. Ashara's shoulders drooped and she seemed barely able to hold herself upright. Jon was still crying, and now she heard him. Walking slowly over to the bed, she picked him up, cradling him to her chest. After her outburst, Arthur put a hand on his sword pommel, afraid his sister might try something.

She waved her free hand dismissively. "Do not worry, brother. I won't hurt him. It's unfair to blame him, I know. He wasn't even born when this all started. But I meant what I said. I can't do this anymore. I love you brother, I do. You have purpose in this world. You have him to protect, to raise, and the other two as well. You have a king to serve. There is nothing for me."

Carefully, she held Jon out to Arthur. Tentatively, Arthur took the baby. He could not stop himself from shielding the baby slightly. This was not the sister he knew. She saw his action, but there was no hurt in her eyes. Only a small, sad smile twitched at her lips before it disappeared.

"Go, Arthur. Raise your king. Bring the rightful rulers back to Westeros. But do not try to stop me. There is nothing you can do to make me feel better. No one can. I'm sorry, Arthur. I truly am. I love you."

Arthur began to cry, and so did she. They both knew it was true. Nothing could be done to stop her. It was her choice. Arthur had reason to remain. She did not. And as much as he loved his dear, sweet, caring sister, he couldn't stop her. So he cried, and let her hold him. He let her scent wash over her, let the feeling of her arms be burned into his skin, for after they left, he would never feel it again.

"I'm sorry, brother," she whispered against his hair, placing a soft kiss against it. He weeped, almost as much as he did when Lyanna died, for this would be the last time his sister would ever embrace him.

 

* * *

 

They left two days later, taking a ship from the Sea of Dorne. They would travel to the Free Cities with Ser Willem Darry, Prince Viserys, and Princess Daenerys. They would protect their king, and his aunt and uncle. They would find an army, and raise Jon to be the greatest king the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. Then they would sail back across the Narrow Sea. They would take back Westeros and restore House Targaryen as the rightful rulers.

After her brother's departure, Ashara Dayne threw herself from the Palestone Sword tower at Starfall.


	2. Arthur II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They had to be prepared to leave at any time; they didn't know when Robert Baratheon would find them, if ever, and they didn't want to be caught by his assassins. Money would become a problem with time. Ashara had given them some money before they left, but it would not last for long. Arthur, Gerold, and Oswell would have to find work. They would have to be the children's teachers, telling them of Westeros and its lords and lands. Rhaella would have been better suited to this task, as she had already raised one future king and a prince. But they would have to make do with what they had._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To [Bethrezen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethrezen/pseuds/Bethrezen): You do make some valid points. They should all be explained in the story. The tags (especially the ones for relationships) are the ones that I believe are important in the story right now. So as I continue to write this, they may change. I do not have every detail of this story written and in mind. For the moment, I do plan to have Ashara/Ned be relevant as the story progresses, which could change. I'm sorry if you don't like this story. I understand it's not for everyone.
> 
> To [Maniac000](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maniac000/pseuds/Maniac000): I will explain the relationship between Ashara and Brandon, probably in the next chapter. It won't have as much affect on things as Ashara/Ned, though. It's more of a reason as to why Ashara killed herself.
> 
> Thank you to the other comments in the last chapter. I do like to hear what you have to say, even if it is criticism (though constructive criticism is preferred).

Jon began to cry as they left the boat, and Wylla patiently rocked him, whispering soothing words to the infant. One of the final gifts Ashara had given them. Wylla was a wetnurse from Starfall. She had meant to be used for Allyria, but . . . now she was Jon's. Arthur was grateful to have her with them. None of them pretended to know the first thing about raising a child, and Wylla had thankfully raised three. And they needed a wetnurse for Daenerys, too.

Arthur still couldn't believe Queen Rhaella was dead. She had endured so much for so long and to be brought down by childbirth was insulting. The gods  _were_  cruel. Prince Viserys must not be taking it well. He had been extremely reliant on his mother. Now she was gone and in her place was a baby sister. The boy would need them to be there for him.

The streets of Braavos were relatively empty in the early dawn. Few were out at this time and none paid any heed to the four people hurrying down the roads. It seemed deserted but Arthur's training warned him that an assassin could be lying in wait. If Ned Stark was truly loyal to his sister, he would not have told Robert Baratheon about Jon's existence. But they couldn't just assume anything. They didn't know who was friend or foe, here or in Westeros. All they knew was that they were sworn to protect their king and the king's family. And that's what they were doing.

If anyone saw him now and knew that his sister had died merely a few hours after he left, they would have considered him to be heartless. They would have thought him cold and cruel and uncaring. In truth, Arthur had shed all the tears he had for his sister months ago. She used to tell him that they needed to move on, or there would be nothing left. She used to say they couldn't stay in the past, because the past was the past and this was the present and they had to think of the future. So he had wept for days, then he wiped his eyes and he told his sister he loved her one last time and he returned to his duties. She would have wanted it to be this way (then again, if she had lived, there would be no reason for him to have cried in the first place).

His brothers had understood. They had given him space and they had given him time. And he could never repay them for it. He should have been helping them, should have been protecting his king and planning and joining them in their work. Instead, he had slept and cried and slept and cried, and the cycle had repeated over and over again for an entire month. When he returned to them, they welcomed him with open arms. They never did hold anything against each other.

Jon let out another soft cry before settling into a quiet sleep. Arthur flashed Wylla a quick smile before turning back around to keep a watchful eye out. They walked in a specific formation, though one couldn't tell just by looking. It was loose enough so they appeared to be a group of people walking normally together, but it covered the baby. Wylla was in the center, as she held Jon; Arthur was to her right; Gerold was in front and to the left; Oswell covered the back, slightly to the left. If anyone tried to come at them directly, they would be able to protect their king.

Willem Darry had sent a messenger boy, telling them to go to a house with a red door that was located within the city. That was where he was taking care of Viserys and Daenerys, and that was where they would unite to raise the children for a number of years. They had to be prepared to leave at any time; they didn't know when Robert Baratheon would find them, if ever, and they didn't want to be caught by his assassins. Money would become a problem with time. Ashara had given them some money before they left, but it would not last for long. Arthur, Gerold, and Oswell would have to find work. They would have to be the children's teachers, telling them of Westeros and its lords and lands. Rhaella would have been better suited to this task, as she had already raised one future king and a prince. But they would have to make do with what they had.

It didn't take them long to find the house. The directions were easy and the house was not far in the city. It was big; two stories with a balcony, a yard in the back, a garden in the front, access to the canal. The house itself was not incredibly obvious, as there were others similar in design and color nearby. It would work well for now.

Gerold knocked three times and gave a low whistle. That was the sign Willem had given them to let him know it was them. Within moments, the door was opened and there stood Ser Willem Darry. He had not changed much since the last time Arthur had seen him. He was a little older and had more grey in his hair. He squinted slightly, as if he couldn't see them clearly. A soft smile broke out on his face when he recognized who they were.

"Gerold," he greeted the Lord Commander. They shook hands, embracing. "Arthur." The same courtesy was given to Arthur. "Oswell." Then he led them inside, closing the door and locking it tightly behind them. He had said nothing regarding Wylla and Jon, only giving the baby one look before greeting his fellow knights.

"Ser, where should I take His Grace?" Wylla asked carefully. She kept looking around them, examining everything. She didn't like it, Arthur concluded. She must have been missing Starfall. But now that she had fed Jon and taken care of him, they had no worry of her leaving. She loved the babe too much to do that.

Willem jerked his head to the stairway. "Up there. The hall to your left. Second door on the right is the nursery. Princess Daenerys is sleeping in there."

"Did you obtain a wetnurse for the princess?" Arthur knew that there had been no wetnurse for them to take on Dragonstone. It could have been he found a girl in Braavos to take care of the baby.

And indeed it was true. "Yes, though now that we have her, I won't be needing the girl. She was one of the sailors' daughter. She has a baby of her own that she would bring with her sometimes. It is good to have someone we can trust now. We  _can_  trust her?"

Arthur nodded. "She served my sister. She is loyal."

"And, your sister . . ." Ser Willem did not mean to hurt him. He did not know what had happened at Starfall. He was merely concerned with the safety of the children. Still, Arthur's heart ached as he thought of Ashara. He gave no indication of the pain in his body language. He was done weeping. Ashara was gone; nothing could be done about it now.

"She cannot do anything to give away where we are. She is dead."

Ser Willem's eyes widened. "Arthur, I'm so sorry. How did she-"

"Her grief killed her, we'll just say that." Telling someone that your sister had killed herself was much harder to say. He wasn't cold, he wasn't heartless. He had a duty. There were more important things to think about than a sister that died months ago.  _Look where long-term grieving has left us in the past; Robert's Rebellion was given more fuel for its blaze, thanks to the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark._ "How have the children been?" Arthur asked, changing the subject.

"They are alright. Viserys has not been doing well since his mother passed. He doesn't like his sister much. I think he blames her for Rhaella's death," Willem explained to him, leading him to a table where they could sit comfortably. Gerold and Oswell walked to the stairs, intending to watch over the children. They couldn't be too careful with Robert's hatred for Targarens.

"Rhaella, I think, would have wanted her daughter to live. She would have wanted her to be strong, like she was. It's just too bad the gods took her so soon. She should be here, watching over the children, raising them, teaching them." His grip on the table had tightened and his mouth was a thin line. It wasn't fair that the gods had taken her, but then again, the gods were seldom fair. "We'll need someone to do that. Wylla might not be enough. Huh, what I wouldn't give to have Ashara here." There it was again. The conversation was back to her.

"Jon seems like he'll be a strong lad. He's got the Stark look," Ser Willem said, smiling a little. Arthur smiled with him.

"Yes. It would appear Rhaegar was wrong." When Willem looked at him in confusion, he elaborated. "He believed he had to have a Visenya for his Aegon. He already had Rhaenys. Now he needed Viseyna. Of course, Elia couldn't give him anymore children. So he needed another woman. And his child couldn't be a bastard, or from a lowborn whore. That's where Lyanna Stark came in.

"He was so certain that it would be a girl. Seven hells, he was so sure about everything. He had said to me the day he left, 'When I return, Arthur, the world will see that my Aegon is the Prince That Was Promised. If the Faith and the people are angry that I took a second wife, I am the king and a Targaryen. There will be nothing they can do.' As we both know, he didn't return. Aegon, Rhaenys and Elia were killed. Visenya was born a boy. And we have three orphans on our hands, two of which will never know their parents."

There was a heavy silence between them. So many duties, so many risks. They were four knights and a wetnurse, and they were expected to raise a king, a prince, and a princess, find them an army, and wage war on Robert Baratheon, who had most of the Seven Kingdoms on his side. Through all that, they first had to survive long enough to get that far. Maybe he had no knowledge of Jon, but Robert knew that Daenerys and Viserys still lived. If a spy or assassin got close enough, they could send word back to him that Jon was with them. Then, the threat to Robert's claim would be even bigger, and he would do everything in his power to kill the 'dragonspawn born of rape,' as he would likely call Jon. They needed allies and friends to help them, and at the moment, they were sorely lacking in both.

Arthur let out a bark of laughter, bringing Willem's attention back to him. "What do we even call him?" he wondered aloud. "Do we call him Robert Baratheon? Robert? King Robert? Usurper? Rhaegar's killer?" He surely sounded mad. Why would he be asking what they call their enemy when they have so many other things to worry about? But Willem Darry only chuckled.

"I don't know. What do you call your enemy that has taken your throne?" They were tired and stressed and scared out of their minds. And they were laughing. They leaned back in their chairs, shaking with laughter.

Eventually, it died down and they were left with smiles on their faces. Ser Willem stood up, stretching. "Wine? Ale?" he offered.

"Ale will do for me," Arthur answered him. He watched the older knight walk into another room. He tapped the hilt of Dawn, wrapping his hand around the pommel. The sword was comforting, a reminder of what he was best at. That was what they needed now; it would be so simple to just lose themselves in fake identities, in names that were not true. They could just give up, pretend to be others and forget about Westeros, the Targaryens, Robert's Rebellion.

But they wouldn't do that. Rhaegar, in all his madness, had been his friend. Lyanna had been his friend. Elia had been Ashara's friend, and his, too. He owed it to them to defeat Robert. He owed it to Ashara, who had suffered so much from this war. He would raise Jon to be the best king Westeros had ever seen - better than Rhaegar was believed to be. They would return things to how they should have been, with Robert dead and the Targaryens once again on the throne. They would end the tradition of incest and purify the line. They would make things right.

They couldn't just forget. There was too much pain and blood and loss to lose themselves. They would each have their reminders, to keep them on track of what they wanted. Jon would be Arthur's, as would Dawn. Every time he looked at the boy, he would remember the friend he had lost in the Tower of Joy, of the promise he had made her. They would never be safe until their enemies were dead. He would remember that when he saw Dawn, when he felt the sword's weight and balance, when he used it to fight off their enemies.

The words of House Targaryen were "Fire and Blood." They would take their revenge on their enemies with fire and blood. But the words of House Stark were "Winter is Coming." And oh, winter was coming for those who had wronged them.

 

* * *

 

Arthur cursed as he once again took the wrong turn. He knew the instructions by heart, and if that failed, he had them written down and in his hand. But Ser Willem's directions had not been as specific as he wished they were. This was the eighth time he had almost gotten lost in the same hour. Perhaps it would have been better if he had sent Ser Gerold. Maybe the older Kingsguard would have had an easier time with this navigating of Braavos.

Gerold decided they needed better armor. The ones they had were old and damaged from the journey and their time during and before the war. They were trying to keep low profiles, but they had a king to protect. It would be much easier to do this with new armor. So, they'd sent Arthur, who had been the only one that was not on duty or required to take care of the children, to buy some. Willem Darry had given him directions to the nearest harbor which had the kind they were looking for.

The three months they'd spent in Braavos so far had been rather uneventful. It was almost more boring than on the trip across the sea. At least on the ship, he had been able to help the sailors with their work. Here, his time was split between guarding, playing with the children, eating, and sleeping. The children should have been more interesting, but two of them were infants and the other was a nine-year old boy.

There been no attacks, no threats. Nothing had come from Robert Baratheon, or the Stag as they had agreed to call him. They had not expected anything to happen within three months of arriving in Braavos. It would be nearly impossible for the Stag to discover where they were hiding in that short amount of time. The sea would help to cover their tracks. For how long, they did not know. Arthur hoped it would be long enough for them to have an idea of what they were going to do. Right now, their goal was just to raise the children. They had no plan on how to get an army, how to get to Westeros. Thinking ahead, though, might give them a chance if something were to happen.

"Dammit," he said under his breath. Another wrong turn and now he had no idea where he was. This was getting annoying. He was tired of going one way and then having to step back, and start again. He was sure that if he tried any longer, he would truly get lost. And he couldn't ask for directions; he didn't speak Braavosi, and what were the chances he'd find someone nearby that spoke the Common Tongue?

He began to turn around and start home when he stopped. A few feet away, watching him intently, was a young boy. He was about the same age as Viserys, with dusty brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was skinny and his clothes were practically rags. Nothing about him should have been suspicious. Except the way he looked at Arthur, as if he knew him. There was recognition in the boy's eyes. He was watching  _him_ and no one else.

As their eyes met, the boy stood from where he had been standing. He walked away, in the opposite direction. He was looking back over his shoulder at Arthur.

"Stop!" Arthur called to the boy. The boy's eyes did not widen in shock or fear. He merely started running. "You, boy! Stop!"

The boy turned a corner. Arthur followed him, the need to know who this boy was and how he knew him overwhelming his senses. No one should have been able to recognize him. He wasn't wearing Kingsguard armor, or a sigil. He'd left Dawn at the house, knowing his sword would attract more attention than a regular one. The pale hair and violet eyes would have been noticeable in Westeros, but here? There was nothing to show who he had been before. So why did this boy know him?

They turned corner after corner, running down streets and past people. Arthur had long since lost track of where they were or where they had gone. He didn't know anymore and he didn't care. He would find his way back; this boy was his biggest worry now.

He almost caught the boy. He'd gotten close and reached a hand out to grab his shirt. But he hadn't been paying attention. A man had stepped into Arthur's path, and so they both came falling down onto the street. He only had time for a quick 'sorry' before he was up on his feet and after the boy again. The delay had given the boy the lead and now Arthur was losing him.

"Stop boy!" he cried again. The child paid him no heed. He turned down another street, some steps ahead of Arthur. By the time Arthur managed to get to that street, the boy was gone. He ran his hands through his hair, huffing as he caught his breath. The boy was gone. He wouldn't know who he had worked for, who had sent him.

"They are hard to keep pace with, I know," a voice said from behind him. Arthur froze, for he knew that voice. He'd heard it many times in King's Landing, in the Red Keep, in council meetings.

Turning around slowly, he found himself face to face with the Master of Whispers, Varys the Spider. The eunuch was disguised, with only his face being the clear and visible sign it was him. He'd dressed like a merchant, wearing rich silks that were an assortment of bright colors. Actually, his clothes were very much like the ones he had worn in King's Landing.

"Varys." Immediately his hand was on his sword pommel, unsheathing the blade and pointing it at the eunuch's chest. "What do you want? Here to rat to the new king about a runaway knight?"

Varys chuckled, a sound different from what Arthur was used to coming from him. His voice was usually high-pitched and soft. Now, it was deeper, much deeper. "We both know you are not some sellsword now. You're keeping your vows to protect your king, are you not? You, Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell and Willem Darry are protecting His Grace, Jon Targaryen."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. How did the eunuch know? As if aware of what he was thinking, the Spider answered, "Secrets are my trade, Ser Arthur Dayne, and my little birds are everywhere."

"So what now? Do you go and report this back to your new king? Inform him that the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna now resides in Braavos? Have another child murdered because of that man's anger?" He had stepped closer, his sword almost touching the eunuch's chest. Varys only tittered, something Arthur had grown used to coming from him.

"Inform King Robert? No," he said, shaking his head. "I do not serve Robert Baratheon. I am here because there is a meeting that should be arranged."

"What meeting? With who?"

Varys smiled. "Between you and Lord Eddard Stark."

For his part, Arthur hid his surprise well. "What are you talking about? Speak sense, eunuch."

"Lord Stark would like to meet his nephew. And I'm sure you realize that you need allies in Westeros if you ever hope to return someday. Lord Stark was not in favor of the killing of Princess Elia and her children. He would rather not see that happen to his sister's son. If you had the North on your side, you would be one step closer to returning home." Varys spoke true. They did need an army, and the North would be very useful. And with the North would likely come the Riverlands. And maybe the Eyrie, as well.

Though still suspicious, Arthur sheathed his sword. "When will this meeting happen?"

"It's good to see you have sense. Four months from now, you will go to Ragman's Harbor. There will be a ship by the name of  _The Red Tiger._ You will get on that boat, and ask to speak with the captain. You will say to the captain "Valar Morghulis" and you will give him this." He took Arthur's hand and pressed a coin into his open palm. "From there, the captain will take you inside his ship, and you will meet Lord Stark. You will take him with you back to the house you rest at now. He must return to that ship before night falls the next day. Do you understand, Ser Arthur?"

He nodded his head. It was a lot to take in, but he could remember it. "Yes. I understand."

"Good. You will not see me again for a long time, Ser Arthur. My little birds will follow you though, and I will send you word if Robert Baratheon plans any attacks on the young prince and princess. One of my birds will take you home. Goodbye, Ser Arthur Dayne." Varys turned his back on Arthur, walking slowly away.

Arthur called him back. "Varys!" The Spider looked back at him, one eyebrow raised in question. "Why are you doing this? You said you did not serve the Stag. Who do you serve?"

"I serve the realm, Ser Arthur." The Spider left, leaving a shocked and disgruntled Arthur Dayne to follow the ragged child back to the house with the red door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, I will skip around with the timeline a bit. I don't feel like focusing a whole lot of attention on things that happen while Jon and Dany are babies, which is why Varys has showed up in only the second chapter. The next chapter should be from Ned's POV.


	3. Ned I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There had been a deserter that day, from the Night's Watch. It had fallen to the Lord of Winterfell to give punishment. It was something Brandon should have done. There were many things Ned had that should have been Brandon's. Catelyn should have been Brandon's wife. Robb should have been Brandon's son. Brandon should be the one wielding Ice. Winterfell should have belonged to Brandon. Brandon should be Lord of Winterfell._
> 
> _Instead, Brandon and Father and Lyanna were dead, Benjen had joined the Night's Watch, and everything that should have been his brother's was now Ned's._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To [L_Cloudy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Cloudy/pseuds/L_Cloudy): I actually forgot about all that. I did read about it or heard it somewhere, but I was really eager to start writing this and to post it, that I forgot about it. It's too late to add it in, so assume that Dany's birth and Rhaella's death happened earlier than in canon. I hope Ned's chapter doesn't disappoint. It was pretty fun to write. Also, I've never heard of that theory but Varys working for his own interests would make a lot of sense.

When Varys the Spider - the Master of Whispers, who should have been in King's Landing, serving Robert - approached him, Ned wasn't sure how to react. There were many things he felt when he saw this man; suspicion (what did the Master of Whispers want with him?), hatred (why didn't he stop this war from happening? Why didn't he save Brandon and Father?), curiosity (he had done nothing to this man. What did he have to say?), anger (why was he here, when he had a realm and a king to serve?). He did not have long to wait to have most of these questions answered.

Ned had been in the godswood of Winterfell, running a whetstone down Ice, deep in thought. There had been a deserter that day, from the Night's Watch. It had fallen to the Lord of Winterfell to give punishment. It was something Brandon should have done. There were many things Ned had that should have been Brandon's. Catelyn should have been Brandon's wife. Robb should have been Brandon's son. Brandon should be the one wielding Ice. Winterfell should have belonged to Brandon. Brandon should be Lord of Winterfell.

Instead, Brandon and Father and Lyanna were dead, Benjen had joined the Night's Watch, and everything that should have been his brother's was now Ned's.

The letter left by Ser Arthur Dayne in the Tower of Joy had explained all. Lyanna had thought herself in love with Rhaegar and did not want to marry Robert. Rhaegar, who believed his prophecy must be completed, wanted Lyanna. So he had danced with her and spoken with her and made her fall utterly and completely in love with him. Then she learned that he meant to take her as his second wife, meant to take the throne from his mad father, Aerys. Once she realized what his true intentions had been, she had left him, ignored him until they finally returned to Winterfell.

And then Rhaegar - with the help of Sers Arthur, Gerold and Oswell of the Kingsguard - traveled to Winterfell and took Lyanna. He brought her to the Tower of Joy in Dorne, where he remained with her until the news of Brandon and Father's deaths reached them and the war broke out. Rhaegar left the three Kingsguard to watch over his second wife and his 'Visenya' as he called his unborn child. Rhaegar was defeated at the Trident. King's Landing was sacked by the Lannisters. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon were killed. And Lyanna gave birth.

Visenya was born a boy, not a girl. Ser Arthur wrote that Lyanna named him Jon. As he was their king now, the Kingsguard made the decision to take him away from Westeros and raise him until such a time as he was fit to lead and retake Westeros. The letter hadn't mentioned where they were headed. Ser Arthur, it appeared, trusted him enough with the truth but not with their plans.

Lyanna - wild, fierce, spirited Lyanna - had died bringing her child into the world. Her body had been left in the Tower of Joy, so that Ned could decide what would be done with her bones. He had chosen to bury them in the crypts of Winterfell, along with Father and Brandon. Truly, the crypts were only meant for the Lords of Winterfell and the Kings of the North. But Ned thought that one exception could be made.

He had guessed that the Kingsguard would be headed to Starfall. That was where Ser Arthur's ancestral home was, as well as his sister, Ashara. Ned had wanted to ride there, for what reasons, he did not know. Maybe he wanted revenge for the taking of his sister, for the war. Maybe he wanted to hear the story from Ser Arthur's own lips. Maybe he just wanted to see his nephew, his sister's son that according to Ser Arthur, looked more Stark than Targaryen. But Howland Reed had told him no. Let the Kingsguard do as they wish. Besides, it would not be a wise decision to see the Lady Ashara. Not after all that had happened.

Varys came to him, after the execution. He had walked into the godswood, acting for all the world like it wasn't unusual or downright strange to see him there. He had looked the part of a northern servant, too. He'd had heavy furs and thick leather on. He'd had a beard and hair, and he'd been completely unrecognizable. Ned had thought he was one of the staff until Varys had introduced himself.

"Lord Stark, it is nice to meet you again." They had met once, when Ned had been in King's Landing. "I am Varys, Master of Whispers."

Perhaps he wouldn't have believed the eunuch then, if it had not been for that voice. Ned was surprised he remembered; their meeting had been short, brief and only occurred once. "Lord Varys?" he asked incredulously.

"Please, I am no lord. You, on the other hand, are. You are Lord of Winterfell, a title that should have belonged to your brother. Indeed, much that would have been Brandon's is now yours."

Ned's voice was low with suppressed anger. "Yes, Winterfell, my title - all of it should have belonged to my brother. But he died, at the hands of the Mad King, along with my father. You were there, were you not? Why did you do nothing? Why did you just sit there and watch my father burn and my brother choke himself to death?"

Varys gave him a sad smile, filled with pity. "I am not skilled with a sword. Few trust me. I have no lordships, no power over the guards or the knights. What could I have done, Lord Stark?" He sounded as though he were speaking with a child.

"Something!" Ned yelled, exasperated and angry with this man. He refused to believe that there was nothing that Varys could have done.

"I am sorry for your loss, my lord, truly I am. But that is not why I have traveled this far to meet with you. You read the letter left for you by Ser Arthur Dayne, did you not?" Ned's eyes widened at this question. How had he known?

"How-how did you-"

"I am the Master of Whispers, Lord Stark. Secrets are my trade. Now, did you read the letter?"

Ned, stunned by this knowledge Varys possessed, stammered, "Yes."

"Good. Then you know of His Grace Jon Targaryen's birth. As you are aware, the Targaryens have few friends here in Westeros. The boy is your nephew, your sister's son. Surely you would like to see him returned to Westeros?" Varys asked him.

It was a difficult question to answer. Not because he didn't know if he wanted to meet his nephew, but because he knew what Varys was really asking.  _Would you side with the Targaryens against your best friend? Would you risk another war?_ Jon was his nephew, and that alone should have been enough reasoning for him to say yes. His wife's family's words were ones he did follow: family, duty, honor. Family was important, as had been proven when his brother rode south and he did too. His duty was to the realm, and if the Targaryens - those who had made Westeros what it is - were seeking to reclaim their home, surely it was his duty to aid them? His honor meant everything, and his honor was to his family.

But Robert Baratheon was his best friend, practically his brother. He hadn't agreed with his allowing the murders of Elia Martell and her children, but Robert was his friend. And they had gone through so much to put Robert on the throne and defeat the Targaryens. War was bloody and horrible. War killed men and women and children. War left realms shaken and kingdoms rocked. War left them picking up the pieces and trying to return things to how they were before. Did he want to fight another war against a realm that would likely side against his nephew? Was this distant family that important to him? His family here, in Winterfell, could be put into danger from it. He could lose them, or they him. Did he want that?

So Ned answered the question carefully. "I do. But must there be war? Surely there is another way they could return?" It was a futile argument and they both knew it.

"Would your friend Robert be willing to let the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna return unharmed? Would he let him live?" Varys countered.  _Is family worth it all?_ he had to ask himself. And it was truly horrible thing to have to consider. He had gone to war for his sister and the deaths of his father and brother. With that, he had barely given it a second thought. Now here was his sister's son, who was the Targaryen heir, and he was  _considering_ fighting for him. War was terrible indeed, but it was like saying that there was some family he would fight for and some he wouldn't.

As if sensing the battle raging inside his mind, Varys added, "Perhaps meeting the boy would help you make your decision?"

Ned looked at him, surprised. He could see his nephew? "He's here? Is he in the nursery?"

Varys only gave a small laugh. "I'm afraid His Grace is not here in Westeros. You may see him, but it would require a trip across the sea." Across the sea. Of course they would hide there. That was the only place they could go where Robert would not be able to just snap his fingers and send an army after them.

"How? How can I see him?" He wanted to see the boy, he really did. He wanted to see the child that Lyanna had given her life for. He had to be worth it, if Ned's sister would die for him. He had to be.

"I would arrange for you to take a ship across the sea. An excuse would be made for your absence; perhaps you could tell Robert a half-truth. You've found a lead on where the Targaryen prince and princess might be and would like to take care of them yourself, maybe?" Varys gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "It does not matter right now. Once you reach the destination, you will meet with Ser Arthur. He will show you where the boy is and you will meet him. Will you take my offer, Lord Stark?"

How could he refuse? The chance to see his nephew, Lyanna's son, when he might never again? "Yes. Yes, I will take your offer."

 

* * *

 

In the end, they had used the excuse that Ned had fallen ill. It was a strange excuse, in Ned's opinion, but the servants of Winterfell were loyal. They would keep the secret that their lord was not actually in his holdfast a secret. The lie was that Ned was too sick to leave his chambers, hence no one seeing him for the months he would be gone. Catelyn had been made aware that he was leaving, too, though she was kept in the dark as well. Ned liked her and did trust her, but not with this. It was his secret and his alone to keep. If word were to reach Robert that Ned was contacting the Targaryens across the sea, the less people involved, the better.

Still, he did not like being kept away from Winterfell for so long. It was worth seeing his nephew and deciding if he would fight this war, but he missed his home. He missed his son, Robb, who looked so like his mother. He missed Catelyn, who was a sweet and loyal woman. He missed the godswood, where he had spent a great part of his childhood chasing his brothers and sister. He was homesick, and this meeting would not change it.

Varys told him he would only spend a day in the city. "To remain as inconspicuous as possible," Varys had said. He was right; the longer Ned stayed across the sea, the longer they would have to tell the lie and the sooner people would become suspicious. The journey was not a short one; it would take at least some weeks, maybe longer, to reach their destination. Ned had still no idea where that might be.

As he stood at the prow of the ship,  _The Red Tiger,_  he allowed himself to think of things that he wouldn't normally. Namely, Ser Arthur Dayne's sister, Ashara Dayne.

Word had come a while ago of the Lady Ashara's suicide. Ned had wept in private. He was married to Catelyn Tully. She had given him a son. He couldn't be seen grieving for another woman. He loved Cat. She was a wonderful woman. But there would always be a small piece of him that Ashara would hold.

He had first met her at the Tourney of Harranhal. She'd been the most beautiful woman there, with her dark hair and her piercing violet eyes. Her beauty had been heard of even in the North, but Ned hadn't believed it until he met her. She had seemed to enjoy his company, though that first night she spent more time in Brandon's company than Ned's (something which would lead to her grief in the end).

And then Brandon had been gone the next day. Naturally, Ashara had sought out his company. They'd gone riding and watched the tourney. She'd danced with him that night. He'd been shy and unsure and awkward. She just laughed and told him he was a good dancer. That must have been when they realized they liked each other not just as friends. Ashara had left in a hurry that night, flustered about something.

Four days later, they had kissed. It had been while they were riding together. They had stopped for a rest and had tied the horses to trees. They'd been looking at the landscape, and Ashara had commented on how beautiful the land was, despite the horrible stories surrounding Harranhal. Ned had thought that she was the most beautiful thing there. And somehow, their lips had met and they had been kissing one another.

Ned, in his love-struck state, had promised to marry her, once his sister married Robert. It was a vow he would break some months later. Lyanna went missing, Brandon rode to King's Landing, he and Father died, and before Ned knew it, he was marching off to war with Robert. They'd needed the Riverlands, and Hoster Tully had only agreed to it if Ned would marry his eldest daughter, Catelyn, and Jon Aryn married his other daughter, Lysa.

All throughout his wedding night, Ned had thought about how wrong it was. Ashara should have been his bride, not Catelyn. Catelyn was beautiful and kind and lovely, but she was not Ashara. She was not Ned's love.

If things had been different - if Lyanna had not been taken - then Ned would have married Ashara. He would have done all he could to make get his father to agree. He would have ridden all the way to Starfall if that's what it took. But this was the way things were and now only Benjen remained of all those he had once loved.

As he made his way below to get some rest, he considered how unfair it was of the gods to do these things to them. They had taken his family and brought war upon them. Did they have to take Ashara, too?

 

* * *

 

Braavos. His nephew was being cared for in Braavos. The captain of the ship told him he was not allowed to leave, not yet anyway. He said that someone must come to get him first. Ned didn't understand, but he supposed it was all a part of Varys' plan. So he waited until the captain came to him, saying his escort was here.

He was shocked to find Ser Arthur Dayne himself waiting in the captain's cabin. His pale hair was tied back. He wasn't wearing the white cloak of the Kingsguard; rather, he wore light leathers under simple clothes. Dawn was strapped to his back, easily within reach of Arthur's hand. His eyes - so like Ashara's - were alight with suspicion and caution. He obviously trusted Ned no more than Ned trusted him.

"Lord Stark," he addressed him curtly. "Follow me."

He led him away, not even bothering to check if Ned was following. He led him off the boat, into the dark and empty streets of Braavos. The moon was high in the sky, the reason why they encountered nearly no one on their late journey. There was the occasional drunkard or two, but besides them, there was no one.

Arthur took him through the canals and twisting streets, leading him so far into the city that he didn't know where he was anymore. They said nothing to one another; what was there to say? Ned would meet his nephew soon enough, and he was unsure whether discussing Ashara would be such a good idea. Did Ser Arthur even know of his sister's fate? Did he care? He had chosen duty over his sister. But then again, so had Ned.

The silence was too much for him (which was odd, considering Ned was a man of few words). Ned decided to risk it and speak with this man. "Arthur, your sister, Ashara-"

"Is dead. I know." What? How could he know? It had been some months since it happened, but one lady killing herself might not have been spoken of among many sailors. And there was no certainty that they would have heard any rumors concerning Ashara's death.

Ned voiced these thoughts. "How can you know, Ser? Word doesn't travel  _that_ fast in Braavos, does it?"

"No, it doesn't. My sister killed herself merely hours after we departed Starfall. And . . ." He appeared reluctant to say something more. Taking a deep breath, Arthur Dayne admitted, "And she told me before I left."

Ned was not a man to get angry over nothing. When he lost his temper - and those were very rare moments - it was for an important reason. Which is why he grabbed Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning, by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall of the nearest structure. He had to stop himself from strangling this man right here, right now. Ashara wouldn't want it and without this man, he had no hope of finding Jon. Ser Arthur was perfectly calm. He didn't struggle against Ned's grip, or try to fight his way out. He just let Ned hold him there, watching him with a calm that came from a man prepared for this situation.

"How did- Why wouldn't you- Why did you not-" Ned had to stop himself several times in order to speak. Even after he had taken a few deep breaths, his voice still shook with anger. "Why did you not stop her?" This was the woman he had loved almost more than his own family. Her brother was standing before him, telling him he'd let her die. It was a miracle Arthur was not dead yet.

"My sister had very little to live for anymore."

"What do you mean? She had plenty to live for," Ned growled.  _She had me,_ he wanted to say, but that would be a lie. He had to abandon her the moment the war began.

Arthur Dayne smiled grimly. There was no amusement in his smile, no humor, no happiness. There was hardly any emotion, except for sadness. "You're a smart man, Eddard Stark. You should be well aware of the reasons my sister killed herself. But since it appears you're not, I will explain it for you.

"Elia Martell was like a sister to Ashara. They were so close, they were almost twins. Ashara cared for Rhaenys and Aegon as if they were her own. Then Tywin Lannister and the Mountain That Rides and Robert Baratheon killed them. The Mountain bashed Aegon's head against a wall, then raped Elia and killed her with Aegon's blood and brains still on his hands. Rhaenys was stabbed half a hundred times. At least, that's what I've heard.

"You were the love of her life. She wanted to marry you, wanted to give you children and be your lady wife almost since the day she met you. She told me of the day you two kissed for the first time. She said it was the greatest day of her life. Imagine her pain at learning that not only was your sister missing and your father and brother murdered, but also that you were married to your brother's betrothed. Imagine how much that would have torn away at her heart.

"Perhaps what convinced her that there was nothing left for her was the death of her daughter, Allyria. Brandon's bastard." Ned recoiled at this. Ashara had been pregnant with Brandon's bastard?

Arthur continued, looking Ned directly in the eye. "She told you about that night, didn't she? The first night of the Tourney of Harranhal? She had thought herself in love with Brandon Stark, the heir of the North. So in love, that she was willing to give him her maidenhead the first night she'd met him. Oh, she'd been infatuated with you, too, but she believed Brandon was her one, true love.

"That is, until she watched him treating other highborn ladies the same as he had treated her. He would dance with them, act absolutely charming. He would compliment them, make them feel as though they mattered to him. There were probably many young girls there that thought themselves in love with Brandon. And of course, this broke my sister's heart. She'd believed that the songs were true, despite everything she'd seen in King's Landing; that one day, the perfect prince would come to rescue her and would take her away to a place where he would love her and treat her like a queen, like a goddess.

"Naturally, all her hopes for something like that were crushed. Until she met you. Quiet, solemn, honorable, kind Eddard Stark. The younger brother of Brandon. She'd been cautious with you, worried that you would be another Brandon. But as she got to know you, she realized you were the complete opposite of your brother. You were loyal and honest. When you would tell her she was beautiful, you meant it. Of course she would really fall in love with you.

"When you married Catelyn Tully, her heart was broken. The only thing I think that kept her alive was the baby growing within her belly. At first, she had dared to hope it was yours. But then she realized that the only man she'd slept with at the tourney was your brother. She would not punish the child for what it had no control over. She decided to keep it. And she prayed that it would look like you, that she would have some piece of you left, even if it was as distant as your brother's bastard. When the child came, she'd been so excited, so happy at the prospect of having a child. Her daughter, Allyria, was stillborn. That was when she decided there was nothing left for her."

Through all of this, Ned had been watching Arthur intently. Was this a lie? Was he trying to cause Ned more pain? As he looked at Arthur's face, into his eyes, he realized that if it was a lie, Arthur believed it with all his heart. Arthur's eyes were filled with pain and anguish. He believed this story he'd told.

"Did she-did she tell you that?" Ned asked carefully, releasing his hold on Arthur's collar. Arthur stepped away from the wall and looked off into the distance.

"Yes. In our last few days together, she'd admitted it all to me. She said that she wanted someone to know her reasons." He shook his head, sighing. "Lyanna was my friend, you know. Many people would have blamed her, I think, if she had lived. But it wasn't her fault. It was never her fault. It was all Rhaegar. The war, Lyanna's death, Ashara's death - it was all Rhaegar's fault. For all his intelligence, he was nearly as mad as his father. I pray Lyanna's looks aren't the only things Jon inherited from her."

Both of them stood there in silence, contemplating the past. It was probably for the best that Rhaegar was dead then, Ned supposed. Arthur Dayne had been his closest friend and one of the Kingsguard. If he called Rhaegar mad, who was Ned to argue?

After a while, Arthur said, "Come. The others will be waiting and you don't have much time." He began walking away, this time at a slower pace and checking every now and then if Ned was still following.

They finally reached the house with the red door. Jon's home for now. When he entered, he found two other men waiting there for him. He recognized Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of Aerys' Kingsguard. The other man Ned had to be introduced to. Willem Darry, former master-at-arms in King's Landing. Oswell Whent was on duty, he was told.

"May I see the boy?" he asked once introductions had been given. Gerold nodded solemnly.

"But I warn you, Lord Stark," Ser Gerold began, "if you try anything-"

"What could I do?" Ned interrupted. "I couldn't kill the boy; he has three Kingsguard watching over him. He's family, besides that. I can't take him away; the ship won't leave for a day or two and I don't know my way around. I would like to return home, and that would be impossible if I did something. So tell me, Ser Gerold, what could I possibly do?"

The Lord Commander was at a loss for words. Ser Arthur and Ser Willem only chuckled at the expression on Ser Gerold's face. "Come with me," Arthur said, already walking towards the stairs. "I'll take you to see the boy."

He led him up the stairs, a heavy silence between them. Arthur may have been prepared for that confrontation, but nothing could prepare him for the hurt it would inflict. There were probably things that Arthur wished to forget and couldn't. His sister's suicide was likely one of them.

 They could hear the cries of a baby before they made it to the door. Arthur said inside was the nursery, and that Jon would probably be resting in there. Oswell Whent stood outside the room. He gave Arthur a nod and watched Ned, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Ned may be Jon's uncle, but he had supported Robert in the war, not Rhaegar. That made him a possible threat to their king.

When Ned entered the room, he found a woman holding a baby. She was singing softly to it, trying to calm it down. Ned walked forward, tentatively holding out his arms, and asked, "May I hold him?"

The woman looked at him uncertainly, and Ned worried he had done something wrong. Arthur let out a laugh from behind him. "That's not Jon," he said. "That is Princess Daenerys. Jon is the quiet one, the one in the cradle." He gestured to the corner of the room.

As he walked past the woman, he noticed the baby in her arms had a tuft of silver hair, and her eyes were a bright purple, like amethysts. He stood before the cradle, looking down into it. The baby inside had dark hair, and Ned could guess that if the baby opened its eyes, they would be grey.

Carefully, Ned picked up the baby. He'd held Robb plenty of times, so he knew what he was doing. Still, he felt afraid that he would drop this baby. He gently rested Jon's head in the crook of his arm, cradling him against his chest. Jon slept on, unaware of what was going on around him. Looking at him, there was no uncertainty that this was Lyanna's son. Oh, there would be parts of his father in him (hopefully not the madness) but he would be a Stark, through and through.

He smiled softly as he gazed at his nephew. It was hard to believe that such a little thing could pose such a huge threat to Robert's reign. His heart clenched as he thought of what his friend might do if he learned this boy existed.  _Dragonspawn_ , he'd called Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys, who had been children of Elia. What would Robert do if he learned the son of Lyanna lived?

Suddenly he felt fear. Fear for this little child that he held in his arms. The boy, along with Princess Daenerys, would spend most of his life looking over his shoulder. He would never have a home, never know what it felt like to be truly safe. He would never know his parents, either. Rhaegar had been killed at the Trident and Lyanna died after childbirth. Jon would only have the word of his Kingsguard to know what his parents had been like.

An idea came to Ned. He turned to Arthur, hope blooming in his chest. "Ser Arthur, let me take Jon with me to Winterfell." Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but Ned spoke over him. "I can claim him as my bastard. I can say that he was born during the war, that I had him brought to me because I wanted all my children to be with me."

For a moment, he dared to hope. This could be it; the boy would know a family, would be kept safe. Ned could raise him, could keep his sister's son with him. He would do this for Lyanna, so her child could know safety and security. Arthur Dayne crushed those hopes. "No! Absolutely not. I will not let you take the rightful king of Westeros and have him raised as a bastard. He deserves more than that."

"What could he have here? What could you give him? He will spend all his life running, believing in dreams that one day he will take back his home. What if that day never comes?"

Arthur was gripping Dawn tightly, jaw clenched in anger. "So what would you do? You would have him raised to believe he is a mistake, a stain on your honor? How will your lady wife treat him? And your children? Will they accept him as one of their own, or will they see him as an outsider and a threat? Here, he has his aunt and his uncle. He has myself and Wylla and the others. He will know love and acceptance. We can protect him. If the Stag finds out your holding Rhaegar's son, he will kill you all."

"I can give him a better future. I can give him a chance-"

"A chance at what? A chance to give up everything that is his for protection that we can give? The boy stays with us, Lord Stark. Ashara may have trusted you, Lyanna may have trusted you, but I will not do this. Jon is our king and we will raise him to be the king." He paced over to the window, which overlooked the city. "And when the time comes, we  _will_ give him an army and we  _will_ take Westeros back from the Stag."

 

* * *

 

The ship rocked underneath Ned's feet. They were on their way back to Westeros, back to Winterfell and his family. But it wasn't complete. So many were still missing; Father, Brandon, Lyanna, Benjen, and now Jon.

He'd hoped that after his argument with Arthur, the Sword in the Morning or maybe the others would see sense. They hadn't. They refused to let Ned take Jon. They would not give up their king.

Ned's heart had sunk. He could have provided his nephew with so much more. The life of a bastard would have been better than the life of a hunted king. He would have given Jon every comfort his own children received, would have given him love and a home and a family. And maybe Catelyn would have been able to show him a mother's love, too.

Now it was too late. The ship had sailed away from Braavos and he would be unable to return for a long time. They'd promised he could meet the boy again, but they hadn't said when. Maybe he would never see his nephew again. Robert's assassins could kill him before he could get a chance to arrange another meeting.

There was one other thing that this journey had helped Ned realize. He didn't want a war, he didn't want to have to choose sides. But if it came down to it, he would fight for his nephew. Family, duty, honor were the words of House Tully. Jon was family, and Ned  _would_  fight for him. He would not have another Aegon or Rhaenys lying at Robert's feet. Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's explanation for Ashara's suicide is long, but there was a lot to say. I think the next chapter will skip ahead a few years, probably to when Dany and Jon are five and Ser Willem Darry dies. In the books, Dany and Viserys have no one after that, so that's probably when Viserys starts to become abusive. Which means things will get interesting in here.


	4. Willem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was dying, there was no doubt about it. He was half-blind already, and the sickness was beginning to spread through his body. He had wanted to see Daenerys and Jon grow up, wanted to see the great rulers they would grow to be. Daenerys especially, for the little princess that looked so like her mother held a special place in his heart. Soon, he knew, he would be dead and Viserys and Daenerys and Jon would be under the care of the three Kingsguard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first and only chapter from Ser Willem's POV. Obviously, I don't know what he's like. All I can really go off of is the conversation Ned had with Arthur, Gerold and Oswell in the Tower of Joy and Dany's memories. So don't judge harshly.
> 
> To Metsamies: Unfortunately, yes, Viserys will be abusive. He is still mad like he was in the books, and he might be worse off simply because Jon is meant to be king, not him.
> 
> UPDATE: I looked back through the comments, and reread this chapter, and I have to agree with JJ in that the part including Oberyn didn't really make much sense. And I personally felt it was not my best work. So it has been edited, and hopefully makes more sense (especially with chapters to come, nudge nudge wink wink)

The children's laughs rang through the house. Well, the laughs of Daenerys and Jon. Viserys thought that playing was something only little children did, not kings. And they always corrected him when he said that, because he so obviously meant he didn't play because he was a future king. They always had to tell him that no, he was not going to be king. Yes, Rhaegar was his brother and Rhaegar was heir to the throne. But Jon is Rhaegar's son, so he will be king before you are. Viserys would pout after that, and lock himself away in his room until he grew so bored or so hungry that he couldn't stand it anymore.

They would have to keep on eye on him, Arthur and the others. Viserys was his father's son, not just in looks but in mind too. Ser Willem had been witness to one of the times Viserys had been cruel to his sister, and had seen when the older boy would hit Jon too hard during training. He was only thirteen, but in time he would be old enough to act on his decisions. He wanted the throne, and if he thought that Jon was in the way of what he wanted, he might be mad enough to try and do something about it. 

That was another thing that worried Ser Willem. Jon was young, very young. He had a great responsibility on his little shoulders. In a matter of years, he would have to lead whatever army they gained and retake Westeros back from the "Usurper," as Viserys called Robert Baratheon. Willem agreed with him, Robert Baratheon was a usurper, but the way he said it, as if it was a type of being, rubbed him the wrong way. He had no love for the former Lord of Storm's End. He did see him as more than just a taker of what did not belong to him, a thief. You had to understand your enemy in war. And although they didn't have an army engaging with Robert's at the moment, the war had never ended. Not so long as Targaryen children lived.

With a long, drawn out sigh, Ser Willem considered all that he would miss. He was dying, there was no doubt about it. He was half-blind already, and the sickness was beginning to spread through his body. He had wanted to see Daenerys and Jon grow up, wanted to see the great rulers they would grow to be. Daenerys especially, for the little princess that looked so like her mother held a special place in his heart. Soon, he knew, he would be dead and Viserys and Daenerys and Jon would be under the care of the three Kingsguard.

He wasn't a fool; he knew Arthur and Gerold and Oswell didn't know the first thing about taking care of children. Yes, they had cared for Jon during the journey to the Free Cities, but they had Wylla then. Poor, sweet Wylla; she had died a year ago, the life driven from her by a fever. Jon and Daenerys had wept for days. Wylla had been the closest they'd ever had to a mother. Viserys had just sniffed (almost in contempt) and said that dragons do not weep.  _They'll have a handful with that one._

Maybe he could get another nursemaid for them, one that could take care and watch over the children. The problem with being of a House that many wanted dead was that you couldn't safely settle in one place or another. You were always running, always looking over your shoulder, always sleeping with one eye open. It wouldn't be until they found an army that any of them would be able to sleep with even half an eye open, and even then, the Kingsguard would keep it open all the way. They were on the run and they had very little gold about them. Arthur's sister, Ashara, had granted them some when they left. But feeding three children and five (now four) adults was not cheap. Neither were clothes, armor, weapons, books, toys. Everything had a price.

He felt a hand tugging on his sleeve and he peered down to see Daenerys' wide, violet eyes gazing up at him. There was fear in those big eyes, and tears were beginning to form at the edges. He lifted her up and onto his lap, stroking her hair and holding her close. "What is it, little princess?" he asked in a soothing voice. She sniffled, and wiped at her nose.

"Viserys is being mean," she whimpered. Willem clenched one fist; Viserys was always trying to bully either his sister or Jon. He would be having words with the boy later. He hated it when anyone broke the little girl's heart.

"What did he do this time? Hmm? What did he say?" He placed one finger under her chin, tilting her head up so he could see her face. The tears were dripping freely down her cheeks, dropping onto the red dress she wore. Using his thumb, he brushed away the tears.

She hiccuped. A small smile played on Willem's lips, though it disappeared when Daenerys admitted to him what Viserys had done. "He said I murdered our mother. That I killed her. I told him it wasn't true, but he kept on saying how I killed her. Jon told him to shut up and to apologize. Then he told Jon that everything was his fault. That his father was dead because of him, that his mother was dead because he killed her. He said the reason we were running was because Jon was born. And then Jon ran away, and I couldn't find him."

He held her close, whispering kind words and assurances. All the while, his heart burned with anger. True, the war had been started because of what Rhaegar and Lyanna did, but it wasn't Jon's fault. The boy hadn't even been born until the war was over! But it was just like Viserys to blame him anyway. Jon was a solemn child, he would no doubt be crying someplace where no one could see. He did that a lot; when someone hurt him or he felt someone was disappointed with him, he would run off to be alone. It wasn't good for him. He needed somebody to talk to, to admit his hurts and pains to.

"Shhh, little one, shhh. You say you could not find Jon?" She nodded, wiping her eyes. "Is there anywhere you didn't check that he might have gone?"

The girl scrunched up her face, thinking hard about it.  _If only Arthur were here._ The boy had taken to him better than anyone else besides Wylla and Daenerys. Wylla or Arthur would know what to do, but Wylla was dead and Arthur was off with the other two trying to earn more gold. So the responsibility fell to him. After some seconds, Daenerys said, "I didn't check Wylla's room or Ser Arthur's."

He smiled down at her. "Thank you, Daenerys. Why don't you go get a lemon cake out of the kitchen and find  _The Young Dragon._  I'll go speak with Jon." Daenerys ran off, her woes forgotten. She liked to hear stories, and the prospect of being allowed a treat  _and_  a story was exciting to her.

Groaning softly, Willem stood and began walking to the stairs. It was a slow process; the sickness and his age made moving around difficult. The others had taken to doing things that required a lot of movement, while Willem mostly remained sitting and in bed. He hated it, the feeling of being useless. He was a knight, the former master-at-arms of King's Landing. If he could choose how he would die, it would be with a sword in his hand. But it was not to be.

He would check Arthur's room first, as it was closer and, he thought, more likely to be hiding the boy. When he entered, he was disappointed to find it empty of any person. He didn't have to peek under the bed for the boy or search anywhere else in the room. Arthur had few possessions, and the ones he did have were kept neat and orderly. Sighing, he left to go to Wylla's room.

The door was open, though only a crack. No one had any reason to enter the room since Wylla's death, but he supposed he could understand why Jon would want to cry alone in here. Wylla was like a mother and he could always go to her when he was upset. Now she was gone and he had no one. As he entered, he noted three things: first, nearly the entire room was empty; second, Jon was sitting by the window, looking outside and into the city; third, there was a huge bruise on his cheek.

The boy whipped his head around and stared at Ser Darry in fear.  _Why would he do that? He's known me for years. What reason would he have to be afraid?_ Slowly, he entered the room, watching Jon carefully to see what he would do. Jon looked like a cornered animal - cowering, shaking, and very much afraid. Willem put his hands out in a pacifying gesture.

"Jon, boy, what's wrong? What are you doing in here?" He thought he could already guess the answer, but he wanted to hear the boy tell him.

He shrugged his little shoulders and looked down in shame. The fear was still there, though it seemed to have dissipated some. "Just . . . I just wanted to be alone," he said in his small, child's voice. "I'll leave if you like, Ser."

"No, no, child. It's alright to be in here. Why do you want to be alone? Surely Dany would like your company?" He had reached the boy now, and grasped his shoulders. The boy still wouldn't meet his eyes.

Instead of answering him like he expected - telling him that Viserys had been cruel and mean - he asked, "Is it true, Ser Willem?"

"Is what true, Jon?"

"Did I do this? Viserys said I started the war, that we're running away because of me. Are we?" The way he looked at him, like his entire world depended on his answer, broke his heart. Here was a boy that was barely five and already he was having to shoulder blame he did not deserve. He did not even know he was a king yet, not really. Jon was a child, he wouldn't understand it. They planned to tell him when he was older.

He sighed. "It's more complicated than that. There are a lot of reasons why-"

"But did I do it?" the boy interrupted him.

"No. Rhaegar, your father, did. But you had nothing to do with it. You weren't even born until the war ended," he added. The boy's expression had changed, and there was a hopeful look in his eyes.

"Really?"

"Yes, my boy. Really. Don't listen to anything Viserys has to say. He doesn't know about anything he talks about." Offering the boy his hand, Willem led him out of the room and downstairs, to join Daenerys in reading  _The Young Dragon._

 

* * *

 

Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper of Dorne. Brother of Prince Doran Martell and Princess Elia. To say Willem had been surprised to see him here was an understatement; he'd almost run him through with his sword when he saw Oswell enter with him. From what Oswell had told him, they had been out by the market and he'd turned his back on the children for a second to speak with a merchant. When he looked back, they were being entertained by five men who were very obviously Dornish. Now here they were, he, Arthur, Gerold, and Oswell sitting across a table from Oberyn and his companions.

"Why are you here?" Willem asked them. The better question would be  _how_ were they here. But he didn't ask that, because he needed to know if they were dealing with a friend or foe.

"I invited them." Shocked, Willem and the two other Kingsguard stared at Gerold.

"You would compromise everything, to invite a potential enemy-" Gerold interrupted Oswell.

"I invited a potential ally. And we will discuss this later. Prince Oberyn," he said, nodding to where he sat.

"Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys take after their mother, Daenaerys especially," the Viper commented. Arthur grunted in reply. "And Prince Jon looks . . . very much like his mother, as well."

" _King_ Jon, you mean," Ser Gerold corrected him.

"Yes, King Jon, although he is a little young to be a king, wouldn't you agree?" There was a hard edge to Oberyn's voice when he spoke of Jon, one undoubtedly that had to do with the fate of his sister. He probably hated the child for living, where Elia and her children had not.

"Enough, Oberyn. Why are you here?" Arthur and Oberyn Martell had been friends, Willem knew that. How could they not? Their sisters had been best friends, almost sisters, and they were both Dornish. But there was a tension between the two, brought on by their difference of opinions.

"Ah, Arthur. Nice to see you, too, old friend. But, if it's business you want, it's business will shall have. I come offering Dorne's aid when you return to Westeros." Immediately, the four men were suspicious. Maybe Dorne would offer support for Daenerys and Viserys, as they were Rhaegar's siblings, but for Jon? Elia was the one who supported Lyanna, but now that she was dead, Dorne had no reason to offer them anything. It seemed strange in either case, though none of them were throwing the opportunity away. There would be a price, they knew.

Willem was the one who brought this to everyone's attention. "What do you ask for in return?" Oberyn smiled at him, a smile that was both friendly and hostile at the same time.

"My brother asks that his daughter, Arianne, be betrothed to either Viserys Targaryen."

A moment of shocked silence followed. Finally, Arthur spoke. Controlled anger masked by a hard, cold demeanor. "You wish for Arianne, your brother's eldest child, heir, and only daughter, to be betrothed to  _Prince_ Viserys Targaryen, and not  _King_ Jon Targaryen. All because of the grudge you hold against a  _child_ for things he could not have prevented." Arthur raised an eyebrow, his tone incredulous. "And these are the terms Doran gave you? Has he lost all his ambition?"

Oberyn glared at the other man. "I do not pretend to know what my brother's reasons for anything are. Although, I doubt my niece would be very happy married to the man that was the reason her aunt was murdered."

Arthur appeared ready to draw Dawn and run Oberyn through with it. Willem wisely raised his hand in a gesture of peace, attempting to calm them both down. When they had stopped sending looks promising death to one another, Willem decided to continue their discussion. "Arthur is right. Is this not strange that you would demand the prince be married to your niece, and not the king? When her children could be the heirs to Westeros, have she could have more power than you or your brother could hope to have?"

"These are my brother's terms. If you want Dorne to be allied to you, then I suggest you agree to them," Oberyn snarled. "I apologize if my brother and I do not wish to have Arianne married to the child that caused my sister's death."

Arthur's hands were balled into fists. "Jon is not to blame for any of that. It was Rhaegar's fault, you know that. Elia helped Lyanna, saw that she had an ally in her time of need. She understood. Why can't you?" he growled. His eyes blazed with anger. And of course he would be angry. Arthur loved Jon dearly and had known Lyanna better than any of them. Any insult to the boy or his mother was an insult to him as well.

"I understand my sister is dead because Rhaegar was in love with the Stark girl. I know that my sister and both her children are dead while that boy lives on!" There it was; Oberyn's long concealed anger had spilled over. Oberyn's point of view was narrow-minded and he obviously did not know everything that had occurred. He thought it was because Rhaegar was disloyal that this war had come and Elia was dead. When Arthur slammed his fist on the table, Willem knew that the Sword of the Morning would not suffer through this any longer.

"What do you know? What do you know?" he repeated, voice raised in rage. "I served in the Kingsguard. I was with Rhaegar all the time. He was my friend! And do you know what? He was mad! He was mad just like his father. His prophecy was all he cared for. He thought that he was invincible, that whatever happened, he would come out the victor and everything would fall into place. That is why he kidnapped Lyanna! Maybe she had loved him at first, but she realized his intentions. And it shames me to know that I helped him. So do not speak to me about what you understand and what you know. You know nothing!" He roared the final statement, face flushed from the outburst.

The two men glared at one another until Gerold saw fit to break up their little fight. "Enough, you two. We have plenty of years to settle our differences. What do we need to make this official?" His question was directed at Oberyn.

"We'll sign pact that promises Viserys will marry Arianne in exchange for Dorne's support in the war. I want someone else present, though."

Gerold nodded. "Yes, I thought you might. I've taken the liberty of inviting the Sealord of Braavos to act as witness. Oswell, will you bring him in?"

The Kingsguard stood up from where he sat, and walked over to the door. He opened it, a few words were exchanged in Braavosi, and Oswell returned with another man in tow. This newcomer wore fabrics of dark blue and purple. His black hair was loose about his shoulders. He was nearly as old as Gerold, though not nearly as strong or fit. His face was solemn and serious, and he watched the others in silence.

One of the other Dornishmen brought forth a parchment. Some words were written on it, then he handed it to Oberyn. Oberyn signed his name and pressed the seal of House Martell into the paper. It was passed to the three Kingsguard and Ser Willem. He was the one who placed the seal of House Taragaryen and House Darry beside their names. The Sealord of Braavos said nothing, just watched everything take place.

When it was all done and over, Oberyn flashed them a smile. He looked over the pact once before he rolled it up and gave it to one of his companions.

"Very good. I hope to see you all again someday. Until then, good luck, and goodbye." As suddenly as he had appeared, the Red Viper was gone.

 

* * *

 

"He comes to us, offering the  _future_ support of Dorne, then leaves us with nothing! Damn him!" Gerold snarled harshly. Willem said nothing. They were all rather upset about the confrontation. Oberyn took much and left nothing. It had not gone as well as Gerold had hoped it would.

"Never do that again, Gerold," Oswell said in a quiet voice. His tone was low and dangerous. "Never go behind our backs like that again. Understand?"

"I do, brother. I do." His face was grim, eyes upset and sad at the same time. The Sealord had left after Oberyn had, saying little to any of them. Whether they could truly trust that man, only time would tell.

Willem sighed in resignation. That was why he had been a master-at-arms. He was no good with politics and negotiating and agreements. Give him a sword and tell him to hack at another man, he knows what to do. Give him a parchment and tell him to negotiate with a lord, he'll stare at you as if you've grown wings. He was no good with words and gifts, only with weapons and armor.

"Well, what can you expect? They'll think it's enough to have shown up at all. We can't ask anymore of them," Arthur put in, a calm expression on his face. That was Ser Arthur; it took a lot to worry him. "This is all that we'll be given by the Dornish."

"Still," Gerold grumbled, "he could have done more."

"Come now. We know that's not the real reason why they won't help us." They turned to Oswell, a question on each of their faces. In explanation, he said, "Jon."

"You know," Arthur began, a half-smile on his face, "Dorne claims to be so much more accepting of everything. They say that there is no reason for men to be blamed for the mistakes of their fathers. Bastards, especially. And yet, here they are, practically refusing to help because we name Jon our king. Ironic, isn't it?"

The others grunted in agreement. Gerold opened his mouth to say something, but before he got the chance, a small voice asked, "Jon's a king?" They all turned around. There stood Daenerys, a reluctant Jon holding her hand beside her. As soon as he saw the two children, Gerold's face softened.

"Come here, children." They did as they were told, with Jon still lagging behind his aunt. He had on a guilty look, as if he'd heard something he wasn't supposed to. Willem laughed silently. Of course the boy would think of overhearing that as a crime. "Aren't you two supposed to be in bed?"

"You said Jon was your king. Is he really?" Daenerys asked, ignoring Gerold's question, her eyes wide with childish wonder. Gerold chuckled, nodding his head slowly.

"Yes, dear Daenerys. Jon is a king. And you are really a princess." He tapped the tip of her nose, and she giggled.

"What about Viserys? Isn't he the king? He's older than me," Jon murmured quietly. Gerold and Arthur exchanged a look, with Arthur rolling his eyes in exasperation. Viserys had been telling stories, it appeared.

"No, Viserys isn't king," Willem began, kneeling down beside the two children. They faced him, confused. "He may be older but that's not how succession works. Rhaegar was his father's first son. Viserys was his second. So that means Rhaegar was supposed to be king."

"But he died," Daenerys interrupted. Willem nodded solemnly.

"Yes. So that means that his sons will be kings before Viserys. Now, when the war ended and we escaped, your mother and I really did think that Viserys was the king. Rhaegar had two children. Rhaenys, his daughter, and Aegon, a baby."

"But Rhaenys was older. Shouldn't she be queen?" Daenerys was full of questions.

"Boys are always heirs first. If there are none, then a girl will be heir." It wasn't exactly true, but it would do for now. They would understand later. "But Aegon and Rhaenys died too. Because we thought Rhaegar had no more children, Viserys was next in line."

"What happened?"

"Then Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell found us and brought Rhaegar's last son, Jon. That makes Jon a king, you a princess, and Viserys a prince." It was a lot to take in, and they may not understand it. But both of them were nodding their heads.

"So," Jon began, "Viserys is my heir."

The men laughed. The boy was truly Rhaegar's son if he could follow all of that and figure it out. "Yes, boy, he is." To their surprise, Jon frowned. His lips formed a little pout.

"But I don't want Viserys to be my heir! I want Dany to be." And he hugged her, as if to signify his point.

"Viserys is your heir, because he's a boy. Don't worry, Dany comes after him," Ser Arthur promised, mussing Jon's hair a bit.

Then Jon said, "You said I'm the king. So I will make Dany my heir. Viserys will come after her."

Daenerys turned to him, surprise lighting her face. "Really Jon?"

He nodded, looking serious for all of his five years. "Yes. I'll make you a queen. You'll be  _my_  queen."

Willem laughed with the others, though a lump had formed in his throat. The Targaryen tradition of marrying brother to sister had brought the madness down upon them. Daenerys may be Jon's aunt, but they were still kin. They'd hoped to put on end to that cursed tradition. However, if Jon was truly set on making Daenerys his wife, there was very little they could hope to do about it.

He shook his head. No, Jon wasn't promising to marry his aunt. He was making a child's promise to let Daenerys be a queen. Within a few years, they would forget about it. There was nothing to be feared. Besides, he would be sure that they learned that incest was wrong. The tradition would end with Aerys and the Targaryen line would finally be cleansed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conceal, don't feel, Oberyn.
> 
> "The Young Dragon" is made up, just so you know. I did actually try to look up any books from the series, but all I could remember was "The Seven-Pointed Star" and I don't think that would be a book two five-year-olds would be very interested in.


	5. Gerold I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gerold tried to keep his racing heart under control. He had to appear calm, like nothing was amiss. It was hard, truly it was. They had been discovered, they were not safe in Braavos. He'd thought they had more time. He had hoped they could stay for a year or two more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To JJ: I'll admit, I hadn't really thought the Viserys marrying Arianne thing through when I wrote that last chapter. So thank you for pointing that out. But I am going to keep it because I actually had an idea on how that could be used later on :)

Willem had passed in the night. He'd been asleep, so Gerold took some solace in the fact that his friend did not have to suffer. The sickness had been hard enough for him. In the end, he hadn't been able to leave his bed. The children had come to him for stories and fun, not the other way around.

Jon and Daenerys were taking Willem's death fairly well. They'd known it was coming; they'd shed tears long ago. The level of maturity the two six-year-olds (their name-days had been two weeks ago) were capable of was impressive. His death still hurt them, but they had been strong. At one point, when it seemed as though Dany might burst into tears in front of all of them, Jon had taken her hand and whispered, "Remember to be strong, Dany." And she had straightened her back, dried her moist eyes, and held the tears in. Viserys, for all his arrogance and attempts at acting like an adult, had appeared a little saddened by it.

The Kingsguard were affected too. All three of them had known Willem before the war. They'd spent the last six years living in Braavos together, raising and protecting what remained of the royal family. He was older than Gerold, more experienced, too. To watch as he slowly left them had been painful. He's sure that near the end, all of them - including Willem himself - wished to just end the misery. But none of them had; either none of them were coward enough or were brave enough.

They burned his body. The sickness was not the reason; it would not spread, else they would all have had it by now. They couldn't bury him. If he wanted to be buried, it would have been near Castle Darry. But Castle Darry was in the Riverlands, in Westeros, and they could not return there. So even though Willem had been of House Darry, they had burned him like the Targaryens did their ancestors, in the outskirts of Braavos. No one would question their reasons there.

Now, the three Kingsguard were currently seated at the table, the children put to sleep an hour before. Cups of ale lay before them, having been raised in a toast to the old man's life. None of them were drunk. They still had a duty to attend to. This night they were especially anxious. They had important things to discuss, and all three were present. No one was guarding the children, even though this would only be for a matter of minutes. But it had only been two months since the last they saw of one of the Stag's spies.

"Will we stay here?" Arthur asked, eyeing the other two in question.

Gerold nodded. "There's no reason why we can't use it for a few more months, maybe even years. It will take the Stag's assassins a while to find us here. Hopefully by then, we will have found somewhere better."

"We should start planning now," Oswell suggested. "We can only assume it will take them some time. It could be five years before they find us. It could be five weeks. We need to be ready."

"Aye. Perhaps Volantis next?" The other two shrugged at Gerold's suggestion. It was not a definite answer, but then again, their thoughts weren't really on where they would go next. No, their thoughts were upstairs, in three rooms down the hallway to the left. "Alright. We'll start on that tomorrow."

Arthur stood up. "I'll take first guard. Jon's been having nightmares lately and he usually comes to my room." They knew that, they'd heard his cries and whimpers at night.

"What are his nightmares of?" Oswell asked him curiously. Arthur stood in place for a second, as if considering his answer.

He turned around. "He said he saw a man. A man that had the helmet of a dragon. He said there was another man, with a stag's antlers and a hammer. They fought and the man with the dragon helmet was defeated. That's when Jon wakes up, when the man's chest has been crushed in."

Gerold's eyes widened in horror. Of all the dreams Jon could have been having . . . he would dream about his father's death. Gerold met Arthur's gaze. "Have you . . .?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't told him what it is. I don't think we really can without having to explain the whole truth. And he's not ready for that. Damn you Rhaegar," he cursed under his breath. Gerold was having similar thoughts. They had thought Rhaegar dead, having paid the price for the war. Instead, he lives on, haunting the dreams of the son he would be disappointed in had he met him.  _And only because he isn't Rhaegar's precious Visenya._

"Maybe the next time I go out, I can see if I can find any dreamwine," Oswell put in. "That could help him sleep better until the dreams are over."

"Yes, do that. He needs to be well rested. Unfortunately, they're both old enough now that if we have to run, they will have to help carry their own weight. One sleep-deprived child will be hard enough to take care of." The two men nodded in agreement. Arthur left to watch over the children. Oswell walked upstairs to get some sleep. Gerold remained where he sat.

Before they left Westeros, Gerold hadn't really known Willem all that well. He'd been the master-at-arms, but Gerold had been part of the Kingsguard. The most time he ever spent with Willem was when he was training or watching over Rhaegar or Viserys. Their time in Braavos, however, had made them good friends. Gerold had not cried over his lost friend, but his heart had grown heavy and a sadness had invaded his thoughts.  _Another friend, dead._

Picking up his glass, he refilled it with the ale, then raised it into the air. "May your sword stay sharp, my friend," he murmured to nothing, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a drink.

 

* * *

 

> **Lord Stark,**

> **Much has occurred since the last letter you received from us. Ser Willem Darry is dead. He passed away in his sleep, the sickness finally taking him from us. Jon and Daenerys took it well, especially for children their age. Only myself and Sers Arthur and Oswell remain to watch over the children. I am not accepting your offer to take Jon and raise him in the North. Merely, I am asking for your help in finding another who could help us in raising the children, favorably a woman. The Spider could just as easily do this, but I would prefer to have someone that you feel you can trust.**

> **Aside from that, Jon grows well and strong. He has only just begun his training. So far, he has proven to be very adept for his young age. His Valyrian is nearly flawless, as is his Braavosi. I fear that we may have to leave our location for another soon. This house has been useful, but even when Ser Willem was alive, the Stag's spies and assassins were getting close. They'd managed to discover we were hiding in Braavos. We have seen a few of them in the streets. Your next visit may be farther away, or may be longer.**

> **We ask for your assistance in the matter of caring for the children, and ask for your prayers, though what good they will do, I don't know. Help us, Lord Stark. Please.**

> **Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of His Grace Jon Targaryen's Kingsguard.**

Gerold finished up the letter, placing the seal of House Targaryen on the enclosed parchment. It would take some time for Lord Stark to receive the message, no matter how fast Varys' birds were. He could only hope that Lord Stark would abide by their wishes. Jon and Daenerys needed someone besides them three in their lives. They needed a mother figure, someone to seek comfort from and kindness. Not that the three Kingsguard were unkind, it was just that none of them could replace that bond the children would have with a mother.

Passing by Arthur in the hallway, he held up the letter. "I'm going to take this to Varys' little bird. Take care while I am away. I should be back within three hours." Arthur nodded and watched him as he walked out of the house, out of sight..

The little spy was nearly an hour's walk away from the house. That had been done for their own security. Varys had the best spy network in the Seven Kingdoms; but this wasn't the Seven Kingdoms. It was unlikely, but the Stag's agents could find them through the child, and if that little bird happened to be near their hiding place, it would only endanger them more.

In the six years they'd spent in Braavos, each of the Kingsguard had become fluent in Braavosi. They'd grown used to the layout, to the canals and the streets. Gerold knew their area of Braavos better than he did the Red Keep (there were still many secrets kept in King's Landing). Traveling through the city to deliver his letter was no problem.

As he drew closer, the crowd of people became larger. The little bird was near the temple of R'hllor and it was sundown. Even during the day, this area was crowded. But at night? When the followers believed they needed their god's guidance the most? That was part of the reason the trip was so damned long; you had to maneuver through the crowds of people to find what you were looking for.

A woman stepped in his way. She held in her hands an assortment of jewelry; a necklace, rings, circlets. "Perhaps you would like to buy some? They would make your wife a very happy woman," she said in Braavosi. She was young, barely more than fifteen. Her skin was almost as pale as the moon, and her blonde hair was so light it was almost silver. Her eyes were bright blue, like the sky. Her dress was not ragged like most women around. In fact, it was rather rich for someone selling only jewelry. She must have been a noble, though why she would be selling jewelry, Gerold did not know.

"I have no wife." He gently pushed her aside, continuing on his way. Unfortunately, she was stubborn and began trailing after him.

"What about a lover? A sister?" He shook his head in answer. "Surely there is some woman in your life that would appreciate these?"

That made him stop. There was only one woman in his life at the moment. She was not a lover, or a wife, or a sister. No, she was more like a daughter. Actually, she was young enough to be a granddaughter. Daenerys was too young to understand or appreciate his gift, but he supposed he could keep them until she was old enough. And the necklace  _was_  beautiful.

He fished in the bag he carried for gold. "How much for that necklace?" It was a simple necklace. The only actual jewel on it was a ruby, outlined with gold. It would be a good gift for little Dany.

"Twenty pieces." A smile lit the girl's face. She was rather pretty, though she would be no match for Daenerys when she grew up. He counted the right amount and handed them to her. She gave him the necklace. "Thank you, Ser."

He had turned his back to her, taking a step forward, but he froze. There wasn't much to give him away as a Westerosi, much less as a knight. How had that girl known he was a knight? Gerold whipped around, hoping to question the girl; she couldn't know that unless someone had told her. But the girl was gone, had disappeared into the crowd.

He tried to reason with himself, to stem the steadily growing panic in his mind.  _You're old,_ he told himself,  _you're hearing things._ His gut said differently. Still, there was nothing that could be done about it now. The girl had escaped. He could only hope that she did not follow him.  _Please, whatever gods watch over us, please, do not let anything happen to us._ He used to be a believer in the Seven. After everything, though, he found his faith had slowly left him. When did the gods ever answer anyone's prayers?

Finally, Gerold reached the tavern that the little bird stayed in. He and the other two came here on a regular basis. With so many dangers lurking, they had to make it appear coming to this place was a normal thing. He sat down, and didn't have to bother ordering himself a cup of wine. It was his usual  order. The innkeeper knew him by now. They sent over a servant girl, who brought the cup to his table. Patiently, he waited for the little bird.

It had been close to thirty minutes when the Little Bird came to him. It was a child - same as all the others - dressed as a beggar. They might have been a beggar, Gerold did not know. The child, a girl, asked for gold here often. That was why nothing appeared amiss when she approached him.

"Please, take mercy on me," she said. Leaning in closer, she whispered, "Do you have a letter for Lord Stark?"

He nodded. "Of course, my child," he answered loud enough for others to hear, but not enough to seem suspicious. Discreetly, he passed her the letter. As his hand met hers, he felt another piece of parchment. He didn't look down, for he knew that it would be a message from Varys, likely containing a letter from Lord Stark.

"Thank you, kind man." Lower, she added, "Lord Varys says you must read it immediately." Without another word, she disappeared, off to beg for gold from other patrons. Gerold made it appear as though he were taking the letter out of his bag. Opening it, he felt his heart begin to pound in his chest as he read.

> **_Ser Gerold,_ **

> **_You have been found. Robert Baratheon's spies do not know your exact location, but they are aware of what part of the city you are in, what you and the others look like. You must leave. Gather your belongings and go to the Purple Harbor. I will have one of my little birds there to give you further directions._   _Your enemies will be expecting you to be at Ragman's Harbor. As you make your way back to the house, stay on guard. They may have followed you to the tavern and may follow you back._**

> **_Take care and be diligent._ **

> **_The Spider_ **

Gerold tried to keep his racing heart under control. He had to appear calm, like nothing was amiss. It was hard, truly it was. They had been discovered. They were not safe in Braavos. He'd thought they had more time. He had hoped they could stay for a year or two more.

He remained for another ten minutes before getting up, thanking the innkeeper for the drink, and walking out. As he stepped into the rapidly darkening street, he took a quick look around, noting all those nearby. If he was being followed, his stalker would try to blend in with crowds. He had to be careful; everything depended on it.

Walking back to the house, he made sure to take alternate routes and wrong turns. With hope, he could confuse anyone following him. Varys had said the spies did not know where they were exactly. That meant they would not know his exact destination. He could get them lost, get them to lose their sense of direction; anything that would make sure they stayed safe for as long as they could.

He got his first look at his stalkers when he crossed a canal. He turned a corner and quickly back up against it. He peeked around the edge of the building, watching where he had come from. There were three of them, each one dressed like a normal Braavosi, even had the attitudes to match. Their accents were off, revealing their Westerosi origins. They walked at a slow pace, laughing and joking, but they were following him. He recognized one of them from outside the tavern.

As he got nearer and nearer to the house, he realized that they were hard on his trail. They knew the city and they knew him well enough to be able to follow him through twists and turns. If he continued to the house, they would see it. He couldn't shake them, not unless he fought them. And it would be a stupid thing to do, but it was his only choice.

The next turn he had to take, he stopped a few feet around the corner. Taking a deep breath, he drew the sword he kept with him. It was not as elegant or beautiful as Dawn, being a sword purchased from a merchant at Ragman's Harbor. But it would serve him well in a fight. So long as his opponents did not have Valyrian steel, it would come down to his skill and theirs.

When they turned the corner and saw him there, prepared to fight them, they dropped their fake personas. Their laughing drifted into silence, their smiles faded. They eyed the sword he had in his hand, the defiance in his eyes. Carefully, they drew their own weapons.

"So you are the Stag's spies? Took you long enough to find me," he called to them across the space. His voice was not loud, it did not echo in the quiet atmosphere. They exchanged a look before one, their leader, spoke up.

"You are a traitor to the Crown. You have plotted against His Grace, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals-"

"-and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Yes, I know what he claims to be. I have served enough kings to know.  _He_ is the traitor, the Usurper of the throne.  _He_ will be the one that is defeated, that will bow or die."

"Give up the Targaryen children, Daenerys and Viserys, and you and your companions will be granted royal pardons. You will be allowed home-"

"-to have our heads cut off. Do not take me for a fool. You three may believe that lie, but I do not. There will be no pardon, no mercy. We have served our king, and for that crime we must die."

"Viserys Targaryen is no king."

"I never said he was. I have served my king, but my king is not Viserys."

The three men had surprised looks on their faces. The leader asked incredulously, "You are telling us that you have another Targaryen usurper with you? You are a fool if you believe we will not report this to King Robert. If you think we will not kill him either," he added, smiling at this new information.

Now it was Gerold's turn to smile, a smile so menacing, any excited expressions the men had fell away. "And who said you would get out of this alive?"

He sprung forward, sword brought down in a deadly arc at the nearest man, the one who acted as though he were the leader. He recovered fast enough from his surprise that he blocked what would have been his end, though the force probably numbed half of his arm and sent him sprawling on the ground. Even with his age, Gerold was still a strong, great fighter. He had not become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for nothing.

One of the other two charged him from behind. He saw it coming and jumped out of the way. The man's sword slashed at air. Gerold hacked at his exposed stomach, cutting through the fabric and into flesh. He screamed in pain as his wound began to bleed. They had obviously not planned on a fight. Whereas Gerold wore light armor beneath his clothes, the three only wore the light Braavosi fabrics. And they noticed.

The third man was not as eager for blood as his companion. He entered a defensive stance, holding his sword to block Gerold's blows. To Gerold's left, the leader began to rise from the ground, weakly raising his sword to fight. Gerold ignored him; the biggest threat was the man he was facing now. The leader he could deal with once he was done.

They stared at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. His opponent was younger, and lacked the patience he had, so the man was the first to make a move. He feinted to the left, really going for the right. His cut should have sliced through Gerold's neck, had he not been prepared for it. He deflected the hit, stepping forward to bring them close together. The man's eyes widened, for he had no idea what to do in close quarters. Gerold did.

There were men out there who would say that Gerold won this fight without honor. If there was anything Ser Gerold Hightower had learned in all his years, it was that in life, and very seldom in battle, honor was meaningful, was important. In a fight where your life is in the balance (and his king's, as it happened), you could take your honor and shove it up your ass. Which is why Gerold reached behind his back, while their two swords were locked together. He pulled the dagger he kept hidden beneath his shirt and cloak, and slashed the man's throat.

His opponent's eyes, if anything, grew wider in terror as he realized he was dying. He let go of his sword, clutching at his throat uselessly. Gurgling sounds were emitted from his mouth, and blood poured out of the gaping wound. He fell to his knees, tears falling down his cheeks. He fell backwards, still choking on his own blood. He laid there, body jerking as the life went out of it. And all of a sudden, he was still.

Gerold nodded in satisfaction. There was no joy to be taken from this, only acceptance that three men were dead and his king was safe. At least for the moment. He sheathed his sword, not worried about the three dead bodies. Men were found dead in the streets quite often in Braavos, three more wouldn't draw much attention. He stopped what he was doing as his mind did the math, as his error was brought to light.

_There are only two bodies._

It was only sheer luck and years of drilling these instincts into him that kept Gerold alive. The sound of footsteps alerted him, made him aware that the last man was coming up behind him. He ducked, twisting around so he could face his enemy. A fist connected with his face, sending him backtracking a few feet. He rubbed his left cheek, where the blow had hit him. He didn't have time to contemplate, because the man was coming at him again.

He couldn't unsheathe his sword. His opponent would have gutted him the moment he lowered his defenses to pull the sword out. The man slashed, hacked, and cut at Gerold's middle. Trying to draw his attention, he could see. Distract him from the real target, make him concentrate on his stomach and chest, and then the man would aim for his face, for his neck. So he did the only thing he could do: he ran at him.

Tackling him to the ground, Gerold rained down blow after blow, all at the man's face. The man brought his right arm forward, slamming it into Gerold's side. There was a blooming pain where he had been struck, but he couldn't focus on that now. This man was a danger to everything Gerold had fought for, not in the last six years, but since he joined the Kingsguard. He would not let it end in a street in Braavos.

When the man was barely conscious, Gerold drew his sword, stood, and plunged it into the man's chest. He let out a little whimper. His eyes met Gerold's for a second, before the life abandoned his body and his head fell back against the ground. His now sightless and lifeless eyes stared at the sky.

Gerold tried to catch his breath, moving away from the body. He felt tired and weak, and his side was flaring with pain. He touched the wound with his hand, and when he brought his fingers away, they were covered in blood. He released a tiny, mad laugh. Of course the leader would stab at him with his knife. And of course the knife would break through his armor and hit the skin. It wasn't life-threatening, it would just slow him down.

He continued home. Even if he gave a damn, he didn't have the strength to dump the bodies into the canal. He could only pray that by the time any of their fellow spies found them, he and the others would be long gone. He wouldn't be able to survive another fight, tonight or tomorrow, not in this condition.

His feet began to drag in his last steps to the house. Gods, he was exhausted. Gerold had forgotten how fighting drained him of his energy. The wounds, too. Exhaustion, coupled with the urgency of the situation, led him to burst through the door. As if that wasn't enough, he slammed it closed, too.

Arthur was the one to point a sword at him, Dawn gleaming in the candlelight. Upon seeing who it was, he lowered his blade, concern overwhelming the determination. "Gerold, where in seven hells have you been?"

Gerold laughed tiredly. "I'm not as young as I used to be," and he lifted up his bloodied fingers. Arthur's eyes grew wide. He herded Gerold over to the table, sitting him down in one of the chairs. He rushed around the house for a minute or two before returning with a sewing needle, thread, a wash bin, a towel, and a bandages. Oswell followed him, bringing in a few of the items. They cleaned his wound, then sewed it up before bandaging it. They began asking questions, but Gerold silenced them by dropping the letter down.

"Read," was all he said. They did as they were told, fear overcoming their features. The same looks of horror he had pictured on himself in his mind were reflected on theirs. "We need to get everything ready. Wake the children. Get everything we need. Get to the Purple Harbor. Get out of Braavos."

Neither of them questioned him, and for that, he was grateful. He didn't have the time, patience, or energy to answer any questions. He would be lucky to make it to the harbor in one piece.

Arthur rushed to wake up the children. Oswell began collecting items they needed for their journey and destination. Gerold just sat in his chair, trying hard not to fall asleep. It didn't work. His last thought before he drifted off into sleep was that the children were going to hate this.


	6. Ned II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What- Cat, what are you suggesting? You think we should speak to some of the lords about this? Why? How does that help our current problem? What do you plan to do? We might as well go tell Robert right now." He was having a very hard time wrapping his head around this. If there was one way to have their secret revealed to Robert, it was to go around the North, spreading the word that Eddard Stark supported the Targaryens across the sea._
> 
>  
> 
> _Her eyes narrowed and she took on a defensive stance, fists on her hips. He was reminded of when she scolded Robb for doing something wrong. The thought made him smile, which was not a good thing to do. Her jaw clenched in anger and her eyes blazed with it. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. "They need all the support they can get. What better support can we give than to have an army ready for their return?"_

> **_Lord Stark,_ **

> **_Much has occurred since the last letter you received from us. Ser Willem Darry is dead. He passed away in his sleep, the sickness finally taking him from us. Jon and Daenerys took it well, especially for children their age. Only myself and Sers Arthur and Oswell remain to watch over the children. I am not accepting your offer to take Jon and raise him in the North. Merely, I am asking for your help in finding another who could help us in raising the children, favorably a woman. The Spider could just as easily do this, but I would prefer to have someone that you feel you can trust._ **

> **_Aside from that, Jon grows well and strong. He has only just begun his training. So far, he has proven to be very adept for his young age. His Valyrian is nearly flawless, as is his Braavosi. I fear that we may have to leave our location for another soon. This house has been useful, but even when Ser Willem was alive, the Stag's spies and assassins were getting close. They'd managed to discover we were hiding in Braavos. We have seen a few of them in the streets. Your next visit may be farther away, or may be longer._ **

> **_We ask for your assistance in the matter of caring for the children, and ask for your prayers, though what good they will do, I don't know. Help us, Lord Stark. Please._ **

> **_Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of His Grace Jon Targaryen's Kingsguard._ **

A sad smile crossed Ned's face as he read over the letter. Word from the Kingsguard across the Narrow Sea was few and far. It was good to receive news, and even better if it were good news. As it were, the parchment in his hand was a mix of both good and bad news; Ser Willem was dead but Jon's growth was going well.

He worried about what Ser Gerold had said, about the spies getting closer. With any hope, it would be awhile before the spies found them.  _It wouldn't be a problem if they had let me bring Jon back to Winterfell._ Even after six years, he was still bitter about his first visit.

"What is it, my love?" Turning his head, Ned saw Catelyn standing in the doorway of his solar, watching him with curiosity. She held his infant daughter, Arya, in her arms.

He looked back to the letter, folding it neatly and setting it down onto his desk. "Just a message from Ser Gerold." He had told Cat the truth after three visits to Braavos. They had promised one another that they would not keep secrets in their marriage. Perhaps it had been a moment of selfishness, a moment of weakness that led him to tell Catelyn about Jon and the royal family and the Kingsguard in Braavos.

"How is Jon?" she asked, closing the door as she walked into the room. Arya was awake and began reaching with her small, baby hands for Catelyn's hair.

"Jon is well. But that is not all that is written." She was standing before him now, leaning against the desk. He one of her hands in both of his. "Ser Willem is dead."

She gasped, eyes widening. "How? What killed him? Are you sure the children are alright?" Catelyn had been angry at first when he revealed the secret to her. But almost immediately after he told her, the Greyjoys rebelled and Robert had called him to war. Once he had returned, she forgave him and became concerned for the safety of Jon and Daenerys.

"It only says that he died in his sleep. All it says about the children is that they handled it well." As her face changed to an expression of incredulity, Ned hurriedly added, "I'm sure that if they were troubled over it, Ser Gerold would have mentioned it in his letter."

She calmed, though she clutched Ned's hand tightly. "I suppose you're right. Does it say anything else?"

He nodded. "Yes. They are asking for my help in sending someone to aid them in raising the children, preferably a woman. There is also a mention of Robert's spies getting closer to finding them. It says they may have to leave soon."

Seeing Robert again after so many years had been . . . strange. The man he remembered from before the war was slowly disappearing. Oh, Robert could still swing his warhammer and fight like a madman. But he was no longer as fit and strong as he once was. His movements had been slower, his energy not as extensive. And Ned could tell from the way his friend's hand seemed to stray unconsciously towards any wine in the room that he was used to downing more than he had before.

It wasn't just the way his friend had changed that made it so unusual. Ned had practically promised already to help overthrow Robert when Jon returned to Westeros with an army. Jon alone was a secret which felt heavier every time he saw Robert. Robert had fought an entire war for Lyanna, had almost torn the realm apart because he wished to rescue the love of his life. How would he react if he knew that, although Lyanna had not gone with Rhaegar willingly, she bore his child and loved it in the last moments of her life? How would he react to knowing that that child was across the sea, planning to reclaim the throne of his ancestors?

"Will they be safe? Oh Ned, what if they are found?" Her concern warmed his heart; he did not think many women would have cared so much for the child of Ned's dead sister - the child Westeros had bled for.

"They will be. Varys will see that they are moved and taken care of. Do not worry, my love." He stroked her cheek affectionately, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.

"We should help them. Send them a woman we can trust to take care of the children." Arya began to fuss, crying softly. Soon, her cries would become shrieks and it would take all of Cat's power as a mother to calm their little daughter down. Rocking Arya, Catelyn began singing to the babe, slowly walking to the door. She stepped outside, and Arya's cries became more distant, until Ned could barely hear them.

Ned expected Cat to stay with Arya and see that she went to sleep. He was surprised when, moments later, Cat came right back into the solar and sat down in one of the other chairs.

"Well, there's no one short of Maege Mormont that we could trust to do this. We could send my handmaidens, but I'm not sure they could be trusted with such a thing as this." She was right, but Ned could see she was distracted by something. She wasn't looking at him, and was instead watching the fire crackling in the hearth, as if considering something.

He had loved Ashara Dayne, there was no denying that. He missed her greatly and she would always hold a special place in his heart. But he loved Catelyn as well. He loved her loyalty, her sense of duty. He loved her red hair and her blue Tully eyes. He loved that she would never betray him and that she would always be there for him. She had given him three children, and even though only one looked like a Stark, he loved them just as much as he loved their mother.

"I've been thinking. Maybe," Cat began slowly, "we should inform some of the bannermen about this." That had him gaping at her like the fish on her father's banner. Inform the bannermen? What could possibly possess her to think that?

"What- Cat, what are you suggesting? You think we should speak to some of the lords about this? Why? How does that help our current problem? What do you plan to do? We might as well go tell Robert right now." He was having a very hard time wrapping his head around this. If there was one way to have their secret revealed to Robert, it was to go around the North, spreading the word that Eddard Stark supported the Targaryens across the sea.

Her eyes narrowed and she took on a defensive stance, fists on her hips. He was reminded of when she scolded Robb for doing something wrong. The thought made him smile, which was not a good thing to do. Her jaw clenched in anger and her eyes blazed with it. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. "They need all the support they can get. What better support can we give than to have an army ready for their return?"

He stared at her in confusion. She sighed in exasperation and muttered, "You're so thick-headed sometimes." A little louder, she said, "If we bring some lords in on the secret, they will be ready and willing to help. And they can aid us in convincing others when the time comes."

Ned opened his mouth to speak, and found no words came out. He honestly could not think of a reason why they couldn't do it. Robert would find out eventually, so they may as well gather as many men as they possibly could before that point. And he could see the logic in having those he trusted most being with them on this. The more they could give Jon and the Kingsguard, the better.

"I guess you're right. We'll have to invite them personally to reveal it to them." Cat's face lit up with a smile as he followed her suggestion, all her fury gone in a moment's notice. Without his consent, his own expression became one of happiness, though at the sight of his wife's beauty more than anything else.

Reaching over, he brought forth some more parchment. He began writing almost instantly, eager to have this done. Speaking more to himself than to Catelyn, he said, "Maege will definitely be one. Jon Umber, too. Hmmm, the Flints and Norreys will be fine, I would think. The Manderleys, the Glovers. And of course, the Reeds."

 

* * *

 

The lords arrived within a month, brought under the impression that Lord Stark simply wished to feast his lords. He would host the others, like Bolton and Karstark and Dustin. Really, Ned only wanted to speak with the Houses he had asked for first. But only inviting some lords would cause dissent and suspicion. And they couldn't afford that.

From Last Hearth came Jon 'the Greatjon' Umber. From Bear Island came Maege Mormont, with her daughters Dacey and Alysane. Torhgen Flint and Brandon Norrey came from the Mountain Clans. Wyman Manderly came from White Harbor, Galbert Glover from Deepwood Motte, and Howland Reed from Greywater Watch. They were gathered in the Great Hall of Winterfell, their men feasting. Ned had requested the lords drink little and keep clear heads; when most others would be too drunk to even notice the absence of the lords, Ned would speak to them of his carefully hidden secret.

Sitting upon the dais, he noticed Catelyn was giddy and trying to hide it. Leaning in close, he whispered in her ear, "Having second thoughts, my lady?"

She smiled at him, though it was a nervous one. She held Arya in her arms, the little one fast asleep even in the noise of the feast. "Just . . . worried. Oh Ned, what if I was wrong? What if this is a horrible idea? Jon won't be the only one in danger, Robb and Sansa and Arya will too." The two older children were seated beside Maege's daughters, being entertained by the girls.

Theon Greyjoy, Ned's ward since the Greyjoy Rebellion, sat near the other children, too. But he did not partake in the festivities. He was poking at his food, eating very little and trying to appear small and unnoticed. Ned felt a flash of pity for the boy; he had done nothing wrong, but many of the northerners still viewed him with mistrust. It wasn't the boy's fault his father decided to rebel. However, the other people of the North had a hard time accepting that.

"Don't worry, Cat." One of his hands rested on the small of her back, rubbing comforting circles against the material of her dress. "Everything will go as planned. And even if they do not disagree, they will not betray me. That is why I brought these lords specifically; they are the most loyal to me."

"But what if-" she began. Ned hushed her with a finger against her lips. She glared at him, irritated by his silencing her.

He smiled despite the evil look she was giving him. "Nothing will happen. We are safe. I will protect you and Robb and Sansa and Arya from everyone who ever tries to harm our family." He spoke true - if any man or woman ever tried to hurt any of them, he would personally see that they paid for every wound inflicted, physical or not.

That seemed to reassure her, though not by much. She returned to speaking with Maege Mormont and Jon Umber, and casting the occasional glance to their other children. The other two were entertained enough by the Mormont girls, and Maege's daughters appeared to be having nearly as much fun as they. It warmed Ned's heart to see happiness among his lords and people.

When Ned judged it to be time to discuss his plans, he stood and made a point of meeting every lord's eye before leaving the hall. They followed him wordlessly, all interested in what he had to say. Cat had long ago taken Arya to bed, and Robb and Sansa had only just been led to their rooms as well. Cat herself was still with their baby daughter, probably making certain she didn't wake up and start screaming.

They entered his solar, and once all were inside, he locked the door. Ned moved around them to get to his desk, standing behind it to address his lords. Jon Umber was the first one to speak.

"Alright Ned, you've got us in here. Now why have you denied us being able to drink our fill of beer and ale? Every man should be allowed to drink as much as he wishes at a feast." His voice was light, with no sign of anger or annoyance, and a small smile graced his face. Jon Umber was a big man, and loud too. He could normally drink any man under the table, like most Umbers.

Ned sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "What I am about to tell you is not to be spoken of outside of this room. Understood, my lords?" They all nodded their assent, most with curious expressions. What secret could their liege lord possibly have that is to be shared with them?

He had decided it would be best to start from the beginning. "As you know, my sister - Lyanna - disappeared ten years ago, with Rhaegar Targaryen." There were glares and mutterings, voices filled with hate and anger. Ned held up a hand for silence. "True, my sister did not go with him willingly. But after all her time with him, she bore his child willingly."

Howland Reed was the only one who appeared unaffected by this. He was also the only one present that had gone with Ned to the Tower of Joy; all the others, Ned had had stay in their holdfasts. They had to keep up the pretense that nothing out of the ordinary was happening for this feast.

Some of the lords were shocked, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Some were angry, pounding their fists and cursing the Targaryen prince. Again, Ned had to silence them. When they were quiet, he continued. "Lyanna was kept in the Tower of Joy, in Dorne. There, three Kingsguard watched over her. She died in childbirth, and her son became the heir to the Iron Throne. Rhaegar, it appeared, married my sister at some point.

"When Howland Reed," they turned their heads to the small crannogman, "myself, and several others reached the Tower of Joy, the Kingsguard had already left. They left a letter, explaining to me all that had happened and provided me with Lyanna's body. Some years later, Varys the Spider, the Master of Whispers in King's Landing, came to me and offered to take me to see my nephew, Jon. He, the Kingsguard, as well as his aunt Daenerys and uncle Viserys reside across the Narrow Sea, hunted by King Robert's assassins."

"My lord, why are you telling us this?" Maege Mormont asked quietly. She was staring at him as if he had gone mad, and he supposed he had, in a way.

"Because I plan to support my nephew when he returns to claim the throne." There was a collective gasp among the lords, each shocked by the treason their lord planned to commit.

"And," Lord Manderly said disbelievingly, "you want us to join you. That's why you're telling us this, isn't it?"

Ned nodded. "I had hoped that you would all stand by me in this decision, and help me convince the other lords, when the time comes." He watched them expectantly, waiting for their answer.

Unsurprisingly, Howland was the first to step forward. "I would fight for you, and give you the full strength of the Neck, my lord."

"I, too, my lord." Jon Umber banged a fist against his chest, chin raised proudly.

"My nephew and I will support you, Ned," Maege stated calmly.

Manderly rose from the seat he had taken earlier. "House Manderly belongs to you, my lord."

"And House Glover," Galbert declared.

Torhgen Flint and Brandon Norrey seemed to come to an unspoken agreement between each other. They stood side-by-side, and Flint said, "The Mountain Clans will join you, my lord."

He had hoped for such devotion, but Ned was still very surprised by the loyalty of his bannermen. He had to clear his throat several times before speaking. "Thank you, my lords. There are none better than you in all the Seven Kingdoms." So honored was he by their pledges, that Ned had nearly forgotten about what had been asked for in the last letter.

"My lords, there is something I need your help with immediately. My nephew will not return to Westeros for some years, but in the meantime, his guardians ask for a woman to be sent to them. The children have no mother, and they need some figure to replace that. Please, I know I ask much of you, but if you know anyone who can be trusted with this sort of thing, I would be forever grateful." He had hardly finished speaking when Maege, a wide smile on her face, stepped forward.

At first, Ned thought she was going to volunteer herself. When he opened his mouth to say no, she raised her hand to stop him. "Ned, I know what you're thinking. And I am not suggesting myself." Her smile, if anything, grew wider. "I do, however, know someone that would be perfect for this role."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not kidding when I say I rewrote this chapter at least four times, all completely different, before I was satisfied. And that was after writing the next two chapters, banging my head against a wall, and creating a completely new character (I think?). Basically, here's chapter 6 and chapters 7 and 8 should be up in a day or two. I did try to write it where Maege Mormont was sent (I really wanted that to happen, too), but it wasn't working!!


	7. Bethany I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Maege Mormont took me in when I was a small child. She helped to raise me, and when she had children of her own, I helped to raise them." She straightened up and looked him in the eye. At least, what could be seen of it. "I know how to cook, how to raise children, how to sew, how to be a lady. I can read and write, I can fight. I can help," she added quietly._
> 
> _Arthur Dayne was watching her - judging her, likely. The ruckus and noises in the room continued on, but the two were in their own world. He needs me, he won't send me away. Still, there was a sliver of worry in her mind. What if he did send her away? Lord Stark had entrusted this to her, her above so many others._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, you guys are all so nice. Thank you for your wonderful comments and for the kudos. I sincerely hope that you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> Frozen: I did change that a bit. It should be better now. Thanks for pointing it out.

A braid of black hair fell over one shoulder. A dark cloak hid her body, a hood casting shadows across her face. Green eyes peered out from the darkness, studying the building in front of her. It looked to be an inn or a tavern, or both. Laughter and raised voices could be heard from within, and the occasional drunkard would stumble out the door, wobbling uncertainly like a toddler.

Staring down at the crumpled parchment in her hand, she nodded in satisfaction. This was the place. Walking up to the door, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

The scent of perfumes and ales and sweat greeted her. Bright lights blinded her for a moment, and the sounds were close to deafening. Many of the patrons were already very drunk. Two were arguing in the corner and it appeared that they would soon come to blows. She made a note to try to avoid that part of the room.

Crossing over to one of the tables, she sat down with her back to the wall. A man passing by jostled her, and upon seeing her, made a grab for her arm. Her hand reached down for the dagger strapped to her thigh, fully prepared to use it. There was no need, though: the man only laughed loudly and continued on his way.

She relaxed, but only a little. There were still dangers that could come her way, and her mission wasn't complete yet. A barmaid approached her and asked her something in Volantee. She shook her head and said softly, "Common Tongue." The girl seemed to understand and went into the back. She returned with another woman, this one older.

"What can we get you?" Her speech was heavy with her accent and it took a few seconds to understand.

Silently, she prayed this woman would understand. "When the raven flies south and the snows fall to the ground, know that I will return home."

For a moment, she feared this woman had not understood. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she stared at her. Then she opened her mouth to speak and said, "He's over there," with a jerk of her head in that direction. The two women left then, not giving her a second thought.

She waited for a minute or two before getting up and making her way over to the indicated table. She had to maneuver through the crowd, avoiding sloshing drinks and wild limbs flying around in a drunken state. When she finally reached the table, ale was drying on the front of her cloak and she'd been elbowed at least five times.

She sat down. The man in front of her also had a hood pulled up over his face. Under the hood, a few strands of light, silver hair were visible.  _So I am met by the Sword of the Morning._  Arthur Dayne, former member of King Aerys II's Kingsguard, and now member of King Jon I's Kingsguard.

"You're the girl?" he asked in a ruff voice. A cup of wine was near his hand, but it looked like he hadn't touched it.

"Yes, that's right." Her voice didn't shake or crack, and she prided herself in that. The man before her was legendary and her mission was more than enough to leave her nervous.*

"What is your name, girl?" More questions, it seemed. "Where do you come from?"

"Bethany, Ser. Bethany Snow. I come from the North, from Bear Island."

He pursed his lips, as if considering something. "A bastard, eh? What did you do at Bear Island? How did you serve your Lord or Lady?"

"Maege Mormont took me in when I was a small child. She helped to raise me, and when she had children of her own, I helped to raise them." She straightened up and looked him in the eye. At least, what could be seen of it. "I know how to cook, how to raise children, how to sew, how to be a lady. I can read and write, I can fight. I can help," she added quietly.

Arthur Dayne was watching her - judging her, likely. The ruckus and noises in the room continued on, but the two were in their own world.  _He needs me, he won't send me away._  Still, there was a sliver of worry in her mind. What if he did send her away? Lord Stark had entrusted this to her, her above so many others.

 

* * *

 

_Bethany was led through Winterfell, the guard watching every shadow, every man, every movement. She didn't understand why there was a need for secrecy. Surely if Lord Stark wanted to speak with her, he didn't need to hide their meeting._

_They stopped before a door. The guard told her to enter, and pushed it open. Inside, a large, oak desk was placed near a hearth. Lord Stark sat behind that desk, looking over papers and books. When she entered, he lifted his head and his face softened a bit._

_"Ah, Bethany. Thank you for coming," he said warmly, standing up from where he sat. There was a nervous look in his eyes and he seemed a little on edge. Bethany didn't ask him why; she was a bastard and a servant. If Lord Stark wanted her to know, he would tell her._

_She sank into a curtsy. "Of course, my lord. I would not dream of disobeying the Warden of the North." It left her feeling awkward and inadequate, being in his presence. She'd only met him once or twice, when Lady Maege and her daughters came to visit Winterfell. He'd never shown so much interest in her before._

_"I'd like to get right down to business, if you don't mind." He stepped away, gazing out of the window that looked over the castle. They stood in silence for some time before he spoke again. When he did, his tone was weary and he sounded older than he was. "What do you know of my sister, Lyanna, and Rhaegar Targaryen?"_

_The question took her aback. She couldn't understand why he would possibly want that from her. But she inhaled deeply and said, "Prince Rhaegar crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty at the tourney of Harrenhal over his own wife. Later, he kidnapped her, initially beginning the war. He was killed on the Trident and your sister . . . died." Bethany wasn't sure how he would react to her saying that._

_He only gave her a smile, but it was a smile filled with pity and a horrible sadness. At first, she was sure he was mocking her and she felt offended. Then he said, "That is part of what happened. My sister fell in love with him, at first. She realized what he wanted from her and it was not what she wanted. When she refused to run away with him, he kidnapped her and brought her to the Tower of Joy in Dorne. She was guarded by three of the Kingsguard, who left soon after she died."_

_"My lord," Bethany began, looking at him in fear and confusion, "why are you telling me this? What does this have to do with summoning me?"_

_"I am telling you this because it has everything to do with why I summoned you. Maege has told me you are loyal, not just to her but to the North, as well. Did she speak true?"_

_"Yes. I would never betray my lady. Or you, for that matter. My lord," she added hastily. The expression he made had her thinking she gave him the right answer to a very complicated problem._

_"Then you may know the reason why I have asked for you. I need you to journey across the Narrow Sea, to join the three Kingsguard. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower."_

_"Why? Are they not traitors to His Grace, Robert Baratheon?" At the mention of King Robert's name, Lord Stark's face darkened._

_"Robert and I were friends once. But he is not my king. All of Rhaegar's children are dead, save for one. His son by my sister."_

_Bethany's eyes widened. "You mean the Kingsguard have Rhaegar Targaryen's son?" For a moment, she forgot exactly what he was asking for. **Betray the King for the son of Prince Rhaegar? And my lady is supporting him in this treason?**  She wouldn't betray them, but she hadn't thought Eddard Stark, or Maege Mormont, were capable of such things._

_"Yes. And they plan to bring him to Westeros, an army at their backs, and proclaim him the true King of the Seven Kingdoms."_

_She shook her head slowly, amazed and frightened and - very plainly - shocked by this news. "And what do you want me to do?" What use could she possibly give the Kingsguard. And the King, for if Eddard Stark said this boy was his king, that made him hers too._

_"My nephew is six years old. He has never had a mother, and the only motherly figure he had died years ago. I want you to raise him. You're aided in raising Maege's children; help raise these. They need guidance and someone that has an idea of how to rule a holdfast. They need a mother, and I believe you're the best to do it."_

 

* * *

 

Finally, he seemed to have made up his mind about something. He pushed his chair back and stood up. Bethany expected him to leave her, to walk out and have her return to Lord Stark to report her failure. Instead, he said, "Come on."

She didn't need to be told twice. Hastily, she stood up to follow him. He pushed his way through the crowd, forcing enough space so as not to get hit. Any drunks that thought it a good idea to confront him over this saw the hand that would rest on the pommel of the sword he kept at his hip.

Bethany wondered if perhaps the blade he had was his legendary Dawn. Had he brought it with him? Or had he chosen to leave it at Starfall? Or had something else befallen the famous sword? She didn't ask him this; she'd rather not have cause to find out the answer with his sword pointed at her throat. She didn't know what would provoke this man, what would make him angry or upset, so she figured the wisest choice would be to keep silent.

The night air felt wonderful. She hadn't realized how much she missed it until she stepped out of the tavern. Arthur Dayne didn't stop, just headed off in some direction. She hurried after him, afraid of being left behind.

She had twenty-three years on her, yet being in the presence of the Sword of the Morning made her feel thirteen again. Her impression of him so far was that he was grumpy, quiet and solemn. The way he walked suggested he was in a hurry, but the way he gave attention to everything had her thinking he didn't want to be followed. She thought that, if he was truly concerned, he might not be so prickly after all.

The silence stretched between them until Arthur Dayne asked, "How old are you, girl?" He did not use her name. She wasn't sure what to make of that..

"Three and twenty, Ser."

"You are young. When did Maege Mormont take you in?" His questions were getting personal, and she felt a little insulted that she knew close to nothing about him.

"I was seven. She found me on a visit to White Harbor. I was originally from Bear Island, but my father took me with him when he left."

"And Maege Mormont just kept you with her? All those years?" He appeared genuinely surprised.

Hesitantly, she answered, "Yes. I've been in her service ever since then. It was because of her trust that I was chosen to come here."

A pause. Then he asked, "Why do you think Maege took you in? Surely there were other bastards or peasants that she could have taken. Why you specifically?"

Bethany couldn't understand why he would ask such questions. What did it matter? She was here to help, wasn't that enough? But she answered anyway because she worried that it was a test. "I don't know. I can't really remember much from the day she found me. I think I was playing in the streets and she happened to be passing by. I do remember how surprised she was to see me. The way she stared, it was like she had seen a ghost." It had been a strange reaction, but Bethany didn't put much thought into it. "She took me with her after that."

"And your father was just okay with that?" His question shouldn't have affected her, but it did.

Bitterly, she answered, "My father wouldn't give a damn, even if he had been there. He died when I was four. He got drunk, fell in a river, and drowned. It didn't surprise me much, either; he was a drunkard, always wasting whatever gold he earned on any drink he could get his hands on. Maege taking me in was a mercy."

Arthur Dayne fell silent after that. His appetite for information about her was sated. And now she was left to think about her father and her life before. Her father had been a bastard in a very different sense than she (although she did wonder if he was a bastard like her).

When he was especially drunk, he would sometimes hit her. She wasn't old enough to do much besides cry when that happened. She'd had no mother there to comfort her or soften the blows. Only her drunk, idiotic, abusive father. That was part of the reason why she so badly did not want to fail in this mission - she knew what it felt like, to have no mother. Even if her childhood had been extreme, surely the royal children would wake up in the night wishing to feel strong, caring arms and hear a soft, loving voice.

She hadn't been paying attention, lost as she was in memories and thoughts, so when Arthur Dayne stopped, she almost walked into him. She realized they must have reached their destination, for Arthur Dayne turned around to regard her with something akin to suspicion and said darkly, "If you're lying to me - if you've come here for any other reason - if you so much as try to hurt those children in anyway, I will make you wish for death."

And by the gods, she had absolutely no trouble believing it.

The house was small, nothing compared to the huge homes the nobles had. But it was comfortable. The front door opened into a hallway. There were only two doors, one on either side. The end of the hallway led into the room she suspected was the kitchen. There was a table there, with six chairs at it, and boxes and sacks of food. Two hallways branched off, one leading to six rooms, one at the very end of it.

Arthur Dayne pointed to the left side. "The first one is yours. You'll rest in there and any of your belongings will remain in there for as long as we stay here." She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from retorting with  _what else are rooms for?_  Continuing, he said, "The second one is shared by Jon and Daenerys."

"The King and his aunt share a room?" she asked curiously. Obviously there weren't enough rooms for all of them, but she would think that the Kingsguard would offer to share a room, or Princess Daenerys would at least share with her brother.

"The King insisted and his aunt agreed," was all Arthur Dayne said of that. He gestured to the room at the end. "That is Ser Gerold's room, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard." The next one, to the left. "Prince Viserys." The next one. "Ser Oswell Whent's." The last one. "Mine."

Bethany gave a nod of her head to show she understood. "And might I ask, where are the children?" It was night, so she assumed they would be asleep.

"They should be with the others." He gave her no more information, only turned on his heel and began walking back to the kitchen. She followed, a bit uncertainly. She wasn't sure if he was expecting her to follow, or if was dismissing her.

Huffing in frustration, she set her bag of meager belongings down outside her given room and followed Arthur Dayne.

He walked back to the kitchen, going down the hallway in the opposite direction. Only two doorways were built into the sides, which she supposed were used for storage or something in the like. As with the other hallway, there was a room at the end, though it did not have a door. She could see flickering candles and heard murmuring voices.

Arthur Dayne immediately sat in one of the chairs set out in the room. Three other men were present. Two of them - the ones speaking - looked older than at least thirty namedays. The other looked to be younger than twenty. Her first assumption (oddly enough) was that this man was her king. He had the silver-blond hair and violet Targaryen eyes, and he stared at her with a look akin to contempt. She quickly corrected herself; Jon Targaryen was barely six years old. This man had to be his uncle, Viserys.

The two men watched her with suspicion and uncertainty. "This is her?" the older one asked. Gerold Hightower. She was honored to be in such a man's presence.

Arthur Dayne nodded. "Aye, this is her. Introduce yourself, girl."

She stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Bethany Snow, Sers. Servant and sworn-shield of Maege Mormont for the last thirteen years of my life. Servant and sworn-shield of His Grace, Jon Targaryen."

"Sworn-shield, you say?" The third man, Oswell Whent, asked. Arthur Dayne was regarding her with some surprise.

"Yes. She raised me, taught me all the ways of a lady, but also that of a warrior. My best weapons are sword and bow. I can wield mace, axe, hammer. I can cook and nurse children. I can sing and tell stories. I can train others." Maege had done the same for all her daughters. Bethany had helped to train Dacey and Alysane herself.

The men were staring at her with something like awe. The boy, Viserys, was watching her with a strange kind of interest. She wondered why, but had no time to ponder or ask, as Gerold Hightower said, "Well, Ned Stark certainly knew who to send. And Maege Mormont  _is_  a she-bear."

 

* * *

 

Bethany's first meeting of the king and his princess aunt was in the middle of her first night in that house. She had been tossing and turning, unable to sleep properly for some reason. She'd managed to get into a fitful sleep when her door was opened and footsteps entered. She reached for her sword on instinct, but stopped herself when she realized the intruders would barely make it to her waist.

She sat up, relaxing as she took in the sight before her. A young boy, hair dark and curly, eyes alight with curiosity, was leading a young girl, blonde hair white in the moonlight, violet eyes drooping with exhaustion, before her. They froze as they realized she was awake. Calmly, she smiled and whispered, "It's alright, you can come closer."

They did that, though their steps were slow and hesitant. When they stopped next to her bed, she asked softly, "Who might such a brave knight and beautiful lady be?"

The boy puffed out his chest slightly. "I am Jon of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and . . ." he trailed off, looking over to the girl for help.

"And the Rhoynar." She gave his shoulder a nudge.

". . . and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Realm of Westeros, King of the Seven Kingdoms. This," he said, grasping the girl's hand, pulling her forward, "is my aunt, Princess Daenerys Targaryen, and my queen."

"No. You cannot be the King of Westeros, and his princess-aunt. They cannot be as brave and strong as you, my knight, or as beautiful and graceful as you, my lady." The children pretended to be offended, but she could tell they were secretly glowing from her compliments.

"It it true. Ask Ser Arthur, if you will. I am Jon and this is my aunt. Who are you?" The kingly attitude left his voice in his last question. He had become a curious child once again.

"My name is Bethany Snow." She stood from her bed, picked up her sword, and kneeled down before the boy. He had shied away at the sight of her weapon, but now stepped closer, dragging Daenerys with him. The little girl hid behind him, peering over his shoulder. "I offer you my sword in service, Your Grace, for you are the one, true king, and I would lay down my life to protect yours."

Jon smiled now, nodding his small head. "I accept. You will be my sworn-shield, serving alongside Sers Arthur, Gerold and Oswell. And maybe one day, you will join my Kingsguard."

"Jon, you cannot. She's a woman," Daenerys said in a small voice. This was the first she had spoken without a hint of feat in Bethany's presence.

"I can. I choose who will guard me. If I want a woman to be my Kingsguard, I will make a woman my Kingsguard." Bethany had to hide her smile, already impressed with the little boy king.

She was allowed to stand, and invited them both to sleep in her bed for the remainder of the night. They did so hesitantly, still a bit unsure about her. And as they snuggled close, one curled against either of her sides, she laid eyes upon Viserys Targaryen, who stood just outside the door, having watched the events with an anger and hatred etched into his face.

And Bethany could only wonder why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to wonder if you can guess why Maege took Bethany in. She's not in canon, of course. And her relation will play an important part later. Until next time (which will probably be tomorrow).


	8. Gerold II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We have no spies in King's Landing. The Spider's reports are few and far, and often outdated by the time we receive them. For all we know, the Stag has known about Jon for some months."_
> 
> _Bethany, understanding dawning upon her features, whispered in a disbelieving tone, "No, no. They couldn't have. They can't have found us, they can't. We've been so careful..."_
> 
> _"Rhaegar was careful too, hiding his madness away from the others for years. No one in the South or the North realized it was Rhaegar that had kidnapped Lyanna until nearly a month after it had happened. Even with all the evidence. But look where he is now."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I kinda lied when I said that the update would be "tomorrow." Obviously, a little while has passed since then. But school has been keeping me very busy these past few weeks.
> 
> And I also want to say that this story is only as good as you claim it is because of you guys. You have made it so much better than it would have been, so I want to thank you for that. You are so very, very awesome and I love you all.

Gerold Hightower jerked awake, sweat forming on his brow. He lay on his side, facing the doorway as was habit. The sun wasn't up, but he doubted he could go back to sleep. His eyes were wide open and he no longer felt tired. In his younger days, he may have regretted staying up like this. Now, though, it didn't bother him as much.

He remembered very little of the dream, only that he was falling. That was how most of them were. The ones that woke him up. He could only remember the very end, the part where he was falling. Gerold had spent a lot of time wondering if it was some warning, a sign, just something he should pay attention to. But what did falling have to do with anything? So he ignored them and got on with his life.

With a small groan, he sat up, feet touching the ground. His muscles ached when he stood up, and he had to stretch to keep himself from becoming too stiff. Old age was getting to him, it would seem. Only the moon guided him to the door. He preferred not to have candles lit at night - it made ambushing enemies a hard thing to do.

He was surprised to see, when he opened the wooden door, light coming from the kitchen. And voices, too. Gerold cursed silently; he'd left his sword in his room. It was unlikely anything would happen in the few seconds it took him to retrace his steps and grab his weapon, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Even if he was getting old, his strength had not diminished by much. He could still throw some very hard punches, if Arthur and Oswell's bruises and black eyes from training were anything to judge by.

It was a single candle which flickered in the kitchen. As he drew nearer, he could see two figures sitting at the table, and a third standing near the doorway of the house. It took him a moment to realize that one would have to be a rather large dwarf for them to be intruders. No, he easily recognized little Dany's silver hair in the light. The one standing would be Oswell, as it was his watch at the moment. Which meant the third could only be their newest addition to their small team, Bethany Snow.

The Northern bastard had only been with them for nearly a year and the two children loved her. Viserys, less so, but that was to be expected of the spoiled, selfish and arrogant teenager. Whereas Dany and Jon were sweet things, courageous and loving to their protectors, Viserys was cruel and angry. He hated each and every one of them with a passion. Arthur and Oswell were still confused by it. Gerold, however, was fairly certain he knew what it was. And he thought Bethany did, too.

Figuring it out hadn't taken Gerold long once he realized something about Viserys - the boy was nearly as mad as his father. The realm had been torn apart by the first Mad King; how much would it suffer from a second? And that was where the hatred for Jon came from. Viserys had believed himself to be, in the few hours in which he and his mother thought all of Rhaegar's children dead, the King. Then Jon had come along and that dream was ruined. The Kingsguard and Bethany supporting Jon's claim did not much improve them in Viserys's eyes.

His hatred for his sister was pretty straightforward as well. He hated her for taking his mother away from him, and hated her for loving Jon more than him. Viserys may have been able to set aside his anger at losing his mother, Gerold was sure, if Dany only showed undying loyalty to her big brother. Instead, she shared a room with Jon (more often than not, a bed, although it was still very innocent), she shared her meals and her toys with him, she shared her dreams and hopes and fears. She followed him like a shadow, she loved him like a sister, she cared for him like a lover. She gave all to Jon, and nearly nothing to Viserys.

Before Gerold sat his little princess, chatting away happily with her new 'mother,' despite the hour. On the table in front of Dany was a plate of cakes, ones that Gerold couldn't identify from this distance. A cup, which he would guess was filled with milk, was placed next to her treats. Bethany was beside the child, smiling and nodding with the girl. Neither of them had yet noticed his presence.

Oswell, observant as ever, had noticed him the moment he opened his door, maybe even before. His fellow Kingsguard gave a small nod in his direction, then nodded to the table. He smiled fondly and mouthed,  _been talking for hours._  Gerold showed that he understood, but made no move to enter the light. He only moved a little closer, just so he could hear better.

Daenerys was speaking at the moment. "-and Jon said I looked pretty in the violet dress. He said it matched my eyes, and that I looked like a proper queen." She took a sip of her drink and bit into another cake. Lemon cakes, he could see.

"I bet you do. You'll have to show me sometime." Bethany leaned in conspiratorially, and said in a hushed tone, "Maybe you could convince Jon to dance with you in that pretty, violet dress. You'll need to be able to dance at the feasts."

At this, though, Dany's face fell. She stared down at her plate, silent for a few moments. When she spoke, her voice was filled with so much disappointment, it almost broke Georld's heart. "I can't dance. Jon wouldn't want to dance with a princess that doesn't know how."

Bethany covered her mouth in mock horror. "Gods, this is terrible. We're going to have to fix this. You need to be able to dance; every princess does. You know what? I'm going to teach you tomorrow, when Jon and Viserys go out to training. We'll do that every day until you're better than any other girl in the whole Seven Kingdoms."

It worked for all of one second, before Dany's expression changed to one of disappointment. And anger. She pushed her plate away, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips formed a pout and her brows were furrowed. "What does it matter if I can dance? Viserys says we'll never get to Westeros, not with Jon leading us."

Gerold's eyes narrowed, and Bethany had a similar reaction. Maybe Dany loved Jon more than she did Viserys, but her big brother still had her ear, and he whispered horrible lies to her. Now here she was, repeating and believing Viserys's words. It made Gerold clench his fists, knowing that little prick was doing this. Dany and Jon were as close as thieves, but if Viserys had his way (and he was, it would seem), that would quickly be changed. In fact, Gerold was certain that if Viserys had his way, they would find Jon drowned in some pool, a tragic accident, Viserys would claim.

Or rather, Jon would never have been born in the first place. And they would all be serving Viserys.

Bethany placed one hand on Dany's shoulder, and another under her chin. She turned the little girl's head so their eyes would be meeting. Her grip was not too hard, but it was hard enough to get the point across. In a low voice, Bethany said, "Viserys is wrong. You should not listen to him. He will tell you many wrong things, some lies even."

"But he's older. I have to listen-"

"And I am older than Viserys. And Gerold is older than me. You have to listen to  _us_. But Viserys is jealous and is an even bigger child than you." She let go of Dany, sliding the plate to her once again. "Jon does not make any decisions yet. He is not our leader yet. But when he is, you can be certain he will be a better king than Viserys could ever hope to be."

As she said this, Bethany's eyes met Gerold's. He didn't startle or back away. He wasn't even shocked by her knowledge of his presence. He was rather proud, for if she could notice him (Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, trained to be invisible, hidden in the shadows of the hallway) then what threats could she see that they could not? A half-smile formed on his lips, and with one backward look, he turned around, hoping to find some kind of rest before he had to began training with Jon and Viserys.

He passed the other rooms, intent on getting to his bed. But he stopped. Some sixth sense told him to check on Jon, to make sure the little king was alright. He didn't know what it was, or why he was getting it, but once it came, it wouldn't leave. This sense, or whatever it was, was so powerful that it had Gerold twisting around to stare at the door to Jon's room.

It was as if he was trying to figure out the problem just by staring at the door. He received no answers from the wood, only silence and an eerie feeling. Heaving a large sigh, he shook his head, silently scolding himself for such a stupid feeling, telling himself he was becoming too suspicious for his own good. He would be be jumping at shadows in no time.

He was thankful he had listened to that feeling and gone to check up on the boy. When he entered the room, the furniture was in disarray, the bed was empty, and the window hung open, the wind blowing warm gusts of air into the house.

Jon was gone.

 

* * *

 

"Where in Seven Hells is he? How did he get out?" Bethany asked rhetorically, pacing the hallway and running her hair through her hands worridly. She would occasionally tug on the dark strands of hair, growling to herself, then would continue pacing. She'd been doing it for nearly ten minutes.

Gerold sat beside Arthur, who had been woken from his sleep the moment Gerold informed the others. Oswell held a shaking Daenerys in his arms, murmuring words of comfort to the child. There were tear tracks on her face, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying as much as she had. When Gerold shouted that Jon was missing, the princess had instantly let out a wail and ran to the old Kingsguard, trying to get into the room.

Viserys had been woken too, though he was far less upset than any of them. In fact, he appeared almost smug, and Gerold had to resist the urge to punch the young man's face. Now was not the time to be fighting amongst themselves. Although, Gerold had a distinct suspicion that Viserys may have had something to do with this. Still, they needed to work together.

Oswell, quietly, suggested, "Perhaps he did not leave. The Stag would do anything to kill the last of the Targaryens. What do you think he would do if he knew Jon was alive, the child born of Rhaegar and Lyanna? What do you think he  _will_  do?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Oswell, his nerves on end, his fear apparent, and his attitude angry and afraid. "What do you mean 'will do?' The Stag knows nothing of Jon. And he never will," he snapped, adding more to himself than the others, "Not as long as I live, he won't."

But Oswell shook his head, a little frustrated. "No, you're not seeing it. You don't understand it, Arthur. There is nothing we can do about it." When they all fixed him with wide stares, confusion in their eyes, he sighed defeated and said, "We can't keep this big of a secret hidden forever. At least, not as long as Daenerys and Viserys are with us." The mentioned young girl perked up upon hearing the name of herself and her brother.

"What are you getting at, Oswell?" Bethany was the one who spoke, understanding as much as Gerold and Arthur. She seemed even more concerned about this, as if the idea that the Stag could find them was one she would rather not think on. And the feeling was indeed mutual.

"I mean," Oswell said with a huff of frustration, "that Jon might not have left, but rather been taken." Gerold stared at him in disbelief, and Bethany and Arthur were already voicing denials, unwilling to accept such a thing as truth. "We have no spies in King's Landing. The Spider's reports are few and far, and often outdated by the time we receive them. For all we know, the Stag has known about Jon for some months."

Bethany, understanding dawning upon her features, whispered in a disbelieving tone, "No, no. They couldn't have. They can't have found us, they can't. We've been so careful..."

"Rhaegar was careful too, hiding his madness away from the others for years. No one in the South or the North realized it was Rhaegar that had kidnapped Lyanna until nearly a month after it had happened. Even with all the evidence. But look where he is now." Oswell took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were filled with pain. "The Stag might have had some of his assassins or mercenaries or loyalists take Jon. You saw the state of his room. You can't tell me that he did that on his own, all because he intended to escape from his room."

Silence reigned between them. None of them wanted to even consider the possibility that... that they might have failed Jon, that he could very well be lying in the streets, throat slit, blood flowing onto the ground. But then, sometimes the fact that he was a boy blinded them. They did feel, after all, that as long as he remained a child, they could protect him from all dangers of the world. This whole thing was like a slap in the face.

"We have to find him," Gerold said to the others, finally speaking. "He's our King. We have sacrificed and given more than any of us thought we would when we aided Rhaegar in kidnapping Lyanna. Let it not all be a waste. We haven't done this for Rhaegar or ourselves. We have done this for Jon, for Lyanna, for Westeros and all the people living within it. We will not fail them."

His rallying speech seemed to have sparked a grim determination. Arthur stood, a hand already reaching for the pommel of Dawn. Bethany moved beside him, arms crossed over her chest, nodding slowly. Oswell held Daenerys tighter, getting to his feet and, supporting the little girl with one arm, patted Gerold's shoulder.

"We will find him, Gerold. Don't worry." Oswell looked down at Daenerys, who clung to his neck stubbornly. "Come on, Princess. We're going to find your nephew."

Bethany flashed him a concerned look. "Is that really wise, Oswell?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Does it look like she'll be going to bed or even staying here anytime soon? We can split up, you, me, and Viserys. Arthur and Gerold can go on their own." Gerold realized what he had done, and it was probably the wisest move. Oswell was less likely to beat Viserys to a bloody pulp if they thought he might have had anything to do with this; Oswell was the best at controlling his emotions.

"Very well. You four take the east side of the city. Arthur and I will take the west. Meet back here in two hours. If we have not found him, we'll have to look harder and-" he had to swallow before he could even begin to voice the words none of them wanted to hear, "-and we must pray that he is not dead yet."

Bethany and Oswell left first, tugging the children along. Viserys complained, but otherwise remained silent. Good. The less he talked, the less chance that Arthur would strangle him. Neither of them had taken to the prince well, especially in the recent years. It was a shame, really; he could have been a good prince, a fair man, if the gods had not seen to curse him with madness.

Arthur was breathing heavily, eyes wild like an animal's. He cared about the boy more than he would let on to anyone. The Kingsguard weren't allowed to have children, or wives, or titles. But Lyanna had stolen his heart in a way few women ever had. Gerold had never really entertained the idea of Arthur and Lyanna as lovers, but had Lyanna survived, he was sure they would have eventually found in each other the loving relationship that had Lyanna had been looking for with Rhaegar.

Lyanna had been barely a girl when they took her. They had followed their prince blindly, never thinking of the consequences. Arthur had been the first to feel the remorse, to regret what they had done. That had forged a bond with Lyanna like none Gerold or Oswell had ever seen happen with their sworn brother. They had been close, Arthur and Lyanna, and Arthur had been devastated when she died, though he hid it well. He probably hid it from himself too.

He knew Arthur felt as though he had failed Lyanna once. He would not fail her again, would not lose her son, the boy who was practically his own son. Gerold knew this, and he worried. When a man truly loved someone, he would go to no ends to keep them safe and protected. Arthur would fight a hundred armies, slay a thousand men, before he ever let any harm befall Jon.

"I will kill them," Arthur growled, finally speaking. His body was tense, coiled, like a snake, prepared to attack at any moment's notice. "I will kill them all, every single one of them. Whoever they are."

"Arthur, calm yourself. Do not let your emotions cloud your judgement. Think rationally. At this rate, you will barge into there, alerting them to your presence and giving them enough time and notice to kill not only you, but Jon as well." The other man lowered his eyes, knowing Gerold spoke truth. His anger did not abate, and neither did Gerold's. He found himself agreeing with what Arthur had said.

 _Oh yes,_ he thought to himself,  _I will kill them all. They will not harm the boy._

 

* * *

 

When the time reached the two hour mark, they had still found no sign of Jon. They had checked the city streets thoroughly, certain that he would not be hard to find, with his pale complexion and dark hair. But there was nothing, and amidst the anger, panic was beginning to build. Were they ever going to find him?

"We should head back," he suggest to Arthur. They had stopped for a break, to rest, to catch their breath and get their bearings. Arthur stared at him as if he had gone mad. "Regroup with the others. They may have found Jon. We won't know unless we go back."

Nodding reluctantly, Arthur pushed himself off the ground and back on his feet. They hurried back, the trip seemingly much shorter than it had been before. Sweat dotted their brows and left dark stains under their arms, even though the sun had not even risen yet. It was still an hour or so more until dawn, and their sense of urgency only increased.

If Jon was out there, alone, without any idea how to get back, anyone could get him. He would be caught in the crowds, drowning in the sights and smells and sounds. He could be mistaken for a slave and sold, or killed in cold blood. Anything could happen, and that was why they had to find him.

Upon reaching the house, they took one last look around, checking to see if they could catch sight of something that would lead them to Jon. Coming up with nothing, they retreated into their home, eyes downcast and hearts heavy.

Bethany and Oswell awaited them in the kitchen. Their faces rose in hope when they saw the two men, but fell the moment they caught their expressions of resignation. Jon was still missing. None of them had the slightest idea where he might be.

Sitting around the table, a mug of ale in his hands, Gerold listened as Arthur and Bethany and Oswell traded reports. Bethany and Oswell had searched the east side until nearly the two hour mark. By then, both Dany and Viserys were tired and drowsy, becoming more extra weight than help. So they had returned, hoping to find Jon along the way. Their hope was for naught.

"I don't know. I just don't know." They lifted their eyes to watch Gerold, but he for the most part ignored them. "How do we _lose our king?_ We're the Kingsguard, trained to watch over him and protect him. How are we supposed to serve him if we don't even know where he is?"

"We'll find him," Bethany promised, laying a hand on his forearm and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Don't give up now. We can still find him."

Gerold opened his mouth, about to reply, when a shriek had them all on their feet. Weapons in hand, they rushed to the source, which happened to be Daenerys's room. Her door was closed, to keep their voices muffled while she slept. They pushed it in now, ready to face whatever dangers there were to be defeated.

Their jaws dropped at the sight.

Jon lay on the bed beside his aunt, tickling her furiously. Dany was squirming away, trying to break free. Her laughter filling the air, she breathlessly tried to tell him to stop. "Jon," a giggle, "stop it." Another giggle, followed by a, "stop it, stop it, it's too much!" She wasn't upset, or frightened. Her sides heaved as she tried to take in air, laughing all the while. It made breathing especially difficult.

She finally noticed them standing in the doorway, watching the scene with shock, and Dany pushed her nephew away. "Jon, Jon, look!" She pointed one hand at them, and Jon stopped what he was doing, turned around so he faced them. He had a grin on his face, though it disappeared when he saw the bedraggled look about them.

"Is something wrong?" he asked them innocently, getting off the bed and pulling Daenerys up too. He was still in his nightclothes, dirtier than when he went to bed.

Arthur was the first one to speak, and his voice was filled with anger and fear. "Have you taken leave of your senses, Jon? Where have you been? We've been searching all over for you. You had us worried sick!"

The young boy's happy expression was replaced by one of sadness, twinged with guilt and shock. "I-I didn't know. I just-I've never been out in the city when it was dark. And it looked so pretty and-and I thought you wouldn't mind if I left for a while." He bowed his head in shame, and Gerold could see he was crying. He was taken aback by the tears. The others were too, apparently.

"Jon, my sweet prince, what is it?" Bethany's soothing voice kept the boy from spilling even more tears. She knelt down beside him, stroking his hair and lifting his chin up. "What is it?" She repeated.

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone! I just wanted to explore. I didn't mean to make you upset. I just- I just-" he couldn't speak anymore, the tears consuming him. His small body shook with sobs, and he buried his face into Bethany's shoulder, clutching at her desperately.

She shushed him. "There, there, Jon. It's alright. We've found you, we know where you are. That's all that matters." Arthur kneeled down beside them too, and began to rub Jon's back gently. Daenerys, having no clue as to what was going on, pushed her way through the two so she could embrace Jon tightly. Perhaps she didn't understand, but she knew when her nephew needed comfort.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jon whispered, voice thick with emotion. And it was so painfully clear that the boy truly  _had_ never meant to hurt them or worry them. The thought had never even crossed his mind. He'd just wanted to have fun. That was all. Yet Gerold could not shake the deep worry he felt in his bones. They had come too close to losing him. Never again.

"It's alright. Don't worry. We're here, you're with us. We're not angry. Shh, it's alright." Bethany pressed a kiss into his dark curls, continuing to give him comfort, a feeling of safety and security. Arthur and Dany were still beside him, each providing him with their own form of comfort. Gerold and Oswell remained by the doorway, feeling like intruders, but also not. This was their little family, but right now, Jon needed his mother and his father and the one person he was closest to, and those were Bethany and Arthur and Dany.

Gerold almost missed it, such a quick little exchange it was. Jon lifted his eyes quickly, meeting the gaze of his younger aunt. The look they shared, emotions and thoughts passing between them, made Gerold wonder if Daenerys was truly oblivious to all that had happened.

One question remained on Gerold's mind, and as loath as he was to break up the scene before him, he needed to know. He didn't understand it, what it could mean. But maybe Jon could give him answers.

Kneeling down beside Daenerys, he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, tentatively whispering, "Jon?" to get his attention. The young boy looked up at him with tearful eyes, almost afraid. No doubt he thought Gerold was here to punish the boy.

"Are you angry with me?" Jon asked in a small voice.

"Never, my dear boy, never." His heart brightened, the love he felt for the child overwhelming. Although the feeling was quickly replaced with dread, dread at what he had to ask. And fear. The fear was ever present in this moment.

"Jon? What happened to your room?" The boy stared at him in confusion, brows furrowing as he tried to recall anything to give to Gerold as an answer. He shook his head, not understanding what the old knight was asking him.

"What do you mean? What happened to my room?"

Gerold pulled back in surprise, now very unsure of what exactly was going. His expression was mirrored on the faces of the others. "Jon, whose window did you climb back in through?"

"Dany's," the boy told him, pointing to where - sure enough - her window was open. "Why?"

But Gerold did not give him an answer. He turned to the others, and Bethany asked, "Gerold? What is going on?"

"I don't know. I-I don't understand. If it wasn't Jon, who damaged his room? And why?" They could provide no more answers than Gerold could himself. With a growing sense of horror, Gerold wondered if there was a traitor among them. After all, no one else could have gotten in, not without them hearing. And who else would be able to do that, and why else would they, if not looking for their next target.

He gazed upon each of their faces in turn. Oswell. Arthur. Bethany. Normally, he would say that it had to be Bethany. If the others were behind this, they could have killed Jon years ago. Why wait now? But something told him that it wasn't her, couldn't be her. Why would she do it? Why?

He realized, with a start, that one of them was missing. Well, hadn't realized it, merely remembered. And Viserys had more reason than any of them to want Jon to be killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellfoy: I totally agree with you on Rhaegar. My personal opinion is that he wasn't a complete madman (I mean, he had to be kinda crazy to risk a war for Lyanna) and that he really did love Lyanna. But I've never tried writing a story where Rhaegar was mad, and when I started writing this, I tried to make him a normal, sane guy that's in love. But I liked this Rhaegar better for this particular story. Yeah. And with Ned, I just feel like this is what he would have done in this situation. I know I haven't made a huge point of it, but at this point in the story, Ned has seen Jon about five or six times. He's more or less taking to heart Family, Duty, Honor and putting family above all else. But, if we don't share the same opinion about this, that's cool. I'm interested to hear what everyone has to say about these things.


	9. Benjen I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Ned? What is it? What did the letter say?" It wasn't like his brother to write anything important in a message. He usually saved that for when Benjen was in Winterfell._
> 
> _It took his brother some time to answer. When he did, he said in a resigned tone, "The letter said that I needed to speak to you about some things. Important things." Benjen nodded, not understanding why this would troubled and worry his brother so, until Ned said, "Things about Lyanna."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Benjen is completely out of the blue, but I had an idea and I was like "oh! that could work!" and this was born. Think of it as a bit of a filler. The next chapter will be back to Jon and Dany and the others. Hopefully I can get it written and edited this week and have it posted within a couple of days.

"Benjen Stark?" One of the Black Brothers called to him, a new brother, if Benjen was not mistaken. The man (really, boy, from the looks of him) approached, a parchment in his hand. He stopped a good foot or two from him, holding out the parchment just a tad hesitantly. Benjen chuckled; the boy was obviously a bit apprehensive about being in the presence of First Ranger.

"Come closer lad," he said, gesturing for him to be nearer, adding, "I don't bite." The boy did as he was told, appearing a little bit more confident in what he was doing. He handed Benjen the letter, giving a small nod of his head before turning on his heel and leaving. A bit hurriedly, Benjen noticed. He paid that no mind. It was not the first time a new recruit-turned-brother was afraid of him. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Unrolling the parchment, shielding the paper from the falling snow, Benjen saw that he held in his hands a letter from his brother. Shivering from the cold, Benjen decided he would read this letter in his chambers, where at least he could be just a little bit warmer.

The Wall was a harsh unforgiving place, cold and cruel. It you weren't hardened when you arrived, you soon became so, for the Wall was not a place for the weak of heart. Heavy snows, strong winds, dangerous terrain. Not to mention the wildlings and animals that lived beyond the Wall. It was Benjen's job to travel beyond the Wall, normally just to watch out for wildlings and to scout out reported camps from other rangers.

Benjen had had no unrealistic expectations for the Night's Watch or the Wall. He understood that it was a place of punishment, where criminals go and the occasional good man that is honorable enough to give up his life and much more for the good of the realm. He knew that he would never become a lord, never take a wife or have children. Ned and Brandon would always be his brothers, but the murderers and rapists and other men at the Wall had become his new family.

It had taken him a while to figure out exactly why it was that he wanted - rather,  _needed_ \- to go to the Wall. At first, he had thought it was just because there was no room for him in Winterfell, not with Ned becoming the lord and bringing his wife and their son to the only home Benjen had ever known. He had thought that he would be of more use to the Night's Watch than his brother. But as he had discovered after a year or two of being a ranger, that wasn't it.

Robert's Rebellion had stolen much from him, from his family. At least, what remained of it.  _Rhaegar Targaryen_ had stolen much from his family. His father and Brandon murdered by the Mad King, Aerys V; Lyanna taken away and dying in some distant part of Dorne. Even Ned, who had been solemn and serious to begin with, had come home changed. No more was the older brother who would laugh at whatever antics Lyanna and Benjen had managed to come up with, or who would teach him how to fight with a sword in the middle of the godswood because their father didn't want Lyanna to become too interested in the things her brothers did. His brother returned a broken man, a ghost of his former self.

Benjen's blood boiled every time he thought of the damned Targaryen prince, and he hated both Rhaegar and himself for what they had done. It was Rhaegar in his madness that had torn the Seven Kingdoms apart, had killed most of his family and left only shattered pieces of those that were left. Rhaegar and his damned prophecy. Benjen and Lyanna were nearly as close as twins, and they shared almost everything with one another. So it was no surprise when his sister had come to him, babbling about how the "Handsome prince is not as handsome or kind as he seems" and how Rhaegar didn't love her, just loved the child he was so sure she could give him.

Perhaps Benjen's greatest regret was not seeing the signs, was not acting before it was too late. He'd been a fool. They'd all been fools, but he'd been the greatest fool. For he could have stopped this before it happened. Maybe it was Rhaegar who took Lyanna, Lyanna who had played upon Rhaegar's interests at first, Robert who had decided that someone else must be king, but Benjen had been given the power to prevent it all, and he'd done nothing. All the lives lost, all the families left just as broken as his, were all his fault.

The flap of leathery wings and the loud cry of "Corn!" broke Benjen from thoughts and memories from long before, and alerted him to the presence of the Lord Commander's crow. The bird landed on his shoulder, gave another  _caw_ and peered at him expectantly. Like it was expecting him to make some corn magically appear. He couldn't, and he would give the stupid bird such a treat anyway.

"Shoo, you idiotic thing." He waved his hand at it, scaring the creature off. It didn't fly far, though, only stopping some ten feet away so that it could land gracefully on the Lord Commander's own shoulder. Jeor Mormont, the Old Bear, former lord of Bear Island and now the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, stared at Benjen almost as expectantly as his bird.

Moving a little quicker, Benjen hurried over to his superior, giving a small head bow to the older man. They said that no man was higher than another at the Wall, that all were equals. He knew from experience that those ideas were not true. None of them had lordships or lands, but there were ranks. And some of the more powerful lords from before they came to the Wall rose easily within the ranks, using their influences and friends to get where they wanted to be. No, the Watch was far from equal. But it was more equal at least than anywhere else in Westeros, besides beyond the Wall.

"What is it, Lord Commander?" He looked the other man in the eye, respectfully, of course. He held Jeor Mormont in the absolute highest regards. In fact, the man was almost like a second father to him. Almost. And he was almost like a second son to the Lord Commander. Almost. Benjen had lost his father, and he came to the Watch, a sixteen year old green boy. The Lord Commander's son, Jorah Mormont, had fled Westeros, accused of selling some poachers as slaves, not some two years ago. Even before that, the Old Bear had been a fatherly figure. But their sort of father-son relationship had changed, had become a little more like father and son when the Old Bear's only son had left, a disgrace on the Mormont name.

The Old Bear eyed the letter in his hands for a moment. "I assume," he began, wiping some of the moisture the snow had left from his face, "that you have learned your brother caught the deserter we've been looking for." Benjen shook his head, not all that surprised that this was the news Mormont wanted to give him. He was often informed of such things, and more times than not, allowed to go and be present for it.

"I had not, my lord." When he saw that the Old Bear was looking at the letter in his hand, he replied to the unspoken question, "I received it, but I have not read it yet."

Mormont nodded gruffly. "Well, I suppose you'll wish to be there for the execution." They both knew it was not the execution Benjen wished to go for, but rather, the chance to see his family by blood again. It had been too long since the last time he saw them.

"I do, my lord. If you would allow me, that is."

"Good. You have my permission to travel to Winterfell." As Benjen was about to leave, the Old Bear called back his attention. "While you're there, Benjen, ask your brother about sending some more men. We're short as it. Castle Black is down to almost three hundred men, and we're losing more as time goes on and the wildlings become bolder."

"Of course, Lord Commander. I will see to it immediately. When will I leave?"

"At first light." Benjen's eyes widened in surprise. First light? It was a bit soon to inform him of such a trip with only a few hours to prepare. "Hornwood sent word that they might have some men that are fit to become new recruits. If that's the case, I want you and some men to travel there first, see if there are any that are strong enough to join the Night's Watch, and to have them brought back. Then you may go to Winterfell."

Benjen gave a nod of understanding, though he didn't understand why he couldn't see to it after the execution. He asked as much. The Old Bear told him, "Because, Benjen, we need those men now. Eastwatch lost thirty men in rangings in the last month alone. The wildlings are becoming braver, and I need as many men at the Wall as I can get."

"Yes, Lord Commander, I will see to it."

 

* * *

 

The snow was blowing hard the morning that he and three other brothers left Castle Black. They burrowed deep in their cloaks, hiding what they could from the relentless chill that tried to seep into their bodies and steal what little heat they had left. Ned's letter was rolled up in Benjen's bag, unread still. He had not had time to see what his brother had written to him before he had to pack and leave.

Their horses moved slowly, just as cold as their riders. The sun had yet to come out, and probably would not the entire day. The sky was a mass of gray, clouds dropping the fluffy snowflakes constantly. The snow that lay on the ground was at least ankle-deep.

Benjen's small group stopped for an hour in Moletown, seeking the warmth the tavern could offer them. They sat, huddled around a fire, as they were served hot wine and steaming stew. The wine was good, if not a tad bit sour, and the stew warmed their bellies. They were off no later than an hour, giving their thanks and riding out into the cold once again.

Conversation was not the most important thing on their minds, though Benjen managed to share a few words and jokes with Yoren, a Night's Watch recruiter that was riding with him until Hornwood. For the most part, they were all to busy keeping warm and stopping their teeth from chattering to speak.

The cold was definately not the reason Benjen had voluntarily come this far north for, but it was there all the same. He had learned to deal with it, although the colder days like this one still took some getting used to. He would be glad to get to Winterfell, where it was be cold, but nowhere near as cold as the Wall.

 _Robb will have seen eight-namedays. And dear little Sansa will be a grown-up five-year old._ He smiled fondly at the memory of his oldest niece and nephew.  _Fierce little Arya will be three, and has no doubt been quite the handful for her mother and father._ Arya and Sansa, even at such a young age, were like night and day. Where Sansa was a perfect lady, a mirror-image of her mother in looks and attitude, Arya was wild as a wolf, and could be savage as one too. He remembered the three year old stumbling around, trying to keep up with her brother and with the Greyjoy ward, Theon.

 _She is like Lyanna,_  he thought, and suddenly, the prospect of seeing his brother's children did not keep a smile on his face.  _Arya will look her too, when she grows older. Oh, she has a boyish face now, but she'll grow into her beauty. And then she will be like Lyanna reborn._

The tear that escaped from his eye froze on his cheek.  _Ten damnable years and I still hurt every time I think of her. It's all my fault, Lya. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

Perhaps one day, he would be able to forgive himself. But that day was not today, and was not anywhere in the near future.

 

* * *

 

_"You're too slow, Ben!" She called from the trees above him. He struggled to keep pace with her, his muscles screaming in protest with every move he made. He wouldn't give in, wouldn't give up. He'd show her. He wasn't a baby anymore._

_He heard the unmistakable **snap!**_   _of a tree branch breaking, and his heart stopped beating for a moment. Then the tree limb under his hands were gone, his balance was lost, and he was falling, falling._

_The air rushed by him, and he felt like it took much longer than it should have for him to hit the ground. The breath was knocked out of him as his back made contact with the hard, forest floor. For a couple of moments, he couldn't breathe. There was no air for him to breathe!_

_Then oxygen rushed back into his lungs, and he could breathe small, shaky breaths. In that time, she had climbed back down from the tree, and was doubled over on the ground, laughing._

_He reached over and hit her on the shoulder. It only made her laugh all the harder. "You should have seen your face!" she gasped out, tears trailing from her eyes._

_"It's not funny! I could have died!" He clenched his jaw angrily, hitting her again. "How would you have liked that? You're brother dying? And it's all your fault?"_

_"I have two other brothers, both of them much better with a sword than you. Why would I need you?" She was joking, he knew that she had been just a tiny bit worried about him. Still, he kicked her shin for good measure._

_"You're stupid!" he shouted, before turning tail and running, far away from the sister that would be looking to get him back for that._

_"Come here, Ben!" He could hear her behind him, and he picked up the pace, racing to Winterfell. If he could get to it before her, he could hide and she wouldn't be able to find him. She had her hiding places, and he had his. She would never be able to get him. And when he would come out at dinner, she wouldn't get the chance to repay his kick._

_He giggled, not letting up his pace even though he could hear her getting closer. She shouted again. "You're not gonna get away! I'm gonna catch you!"_

_"No you're not!" he threw over his shoulder, pushing his legs all the harder. He was going to make it. He could see Winterfell now. The guards on top of the wall were watching them with amusement, some of them laughing at the chase they played. The gates were open. He just needed to get inside, then he would disappear._

_"Almost got you!" He could swear she said it right in his ear, and that sent his heart hammering in his chest. Almost there. Almost there._

_He reached the gates just as Lyanna reached for him, grasping the air where he had been a moment before. She let out an agitated growl, knowing she had lost and her brother had won. She would get him next time, she always said she would. But she never did._

 

* * *

 

Like when he was a child, Winterfell came into sight, the gates open already. Only now, the guards were not watching on in amusement as he was chased by his older sister inside. Lyanna wasn't hot on his heels, screeching and shouting, trying to catch him. Brandon wouldn't be there to go look for him when it came time for dinner, searching every where he could think of but never quite finding where it was Benjen was hiding. His father wouldn't be sitting at the head of the table in the Great Hall, scolding them for their behavior but with eyes that sparkled with silent laughter. It was just Ned now. Just him and Ned. They were all that remained.

The guards nodded their heads respectfully, and he was allowed inside without pause. They knew him well enough by now. They almost never stopped a brother of the Night's Watch, but they certainly never stopped the brother of their lord. He was alone, riding into the courtyard. His three companions had remained at Hornwood, making the final decision on which prisoners to take back to Castle Black with them.

As Benjen dismounted, he was greeted with a squeal, and a flash of dark brown hair. Arya, for all her small size, launched herself into his arms, and he just barely caught her. He hugged her to his chest, holding her tightly. It surprised him that his niece, so young, would remember him. But he guessed that, as it was just her and her father and himself that had the Stark look, she would not quickly forget him.

The next to come running out was Robb. The future lord couldn't launch himself into Benjen's arms like his youngest sister did, but he did barrel into his uncle with all the strength an eight year old could muster. And that did manage to drive some of the air from Benjen's lungs. " _Oof_. Hello there, Robb. And hello, Arya."

"Uncle Benjen!" Arya exclaimed in her small voice, words hard to distinguish. She appeared content with that, saying nothing more, and he guessed that just the prospect of being able to identify him excited her beyond measure.

"Uncle Benjen!" Robb said as well, grinning up at his uncle. The boy had grown, and would reach Benjen's shoulders in two years or so. Benjen reached over to muss his nephew's auburn hair. Robb and Sansa had both taken after their mother. So far, Arya was the only child of his brother to take after him. But Benjen did not mind; he still loved and cared for his brother's children equally.

Robb called out, "Sansa! Come see Uncle Benjen!" Turning his head to the side, Benjen could see dear little Sansa walking down the steps, all ladylike and proper, holding onto her mother's hand. Seeing Catelyn and Sansa together was like looking at Sansa's future and Catelyn's past. They were so alike in their looks, and in their personality. Sansa gazed up at her mother, and when Catelyn gave a small nod, Sansa took off, running to Benjen.

He was ready for her, unlike her sister, and lifted her up. He pressed a delicate kiss into her hair, and onto her forehead, greeting her with a "My sweet Sansa, how are you, my little lady?"

"I'm very well, Uncle," she replied, between her giggles. He set her down gently, and moved away from the children to go to their mother. In her arms, Catelyn carried her youngest son, Brandon, who at age two was much too young to remember Benjen. As he approached, he heard Bran say in his baby voice, "Mama, who?"

"Bran, this is your uncle Benjen. He's been here before, and he met you?" Bran appeared a little uncertain when Benjen stopped in front of them, though he did smile at his uncle.

"Hello, Bran. It's good to see you again. You've gotten so big," he told the four year old, who smiled broadly at the compliment. He kissed his goodsister's cheek. "Hello, Cat."

"Welcome home, Benjen." No matter how many times Benjen had told her in the past that Winterfell was her home now, not his, she refused to call it anything else.

"And where might my pig-headed brother be? Not coming to see his own little brother? I've been wounded." The children laughed at the joking insult he gave his brother, and laughed even more when Benjen pretended as though he had a wound on his chest. He clutched one hand over his heart, stumbling around, making little gasping noises. Even Bran joined in his older siblings' laughter, though not quite understanding what was happening. Cat, however, seemed uneasy.

"Ned is in his solar. He wanted to speak with you the moment you arrived." Her eyes darted around the courtyard, and if Benjen was not mistaken, there was a look of fear in her eyes as well. "You should go talk with him. He has something important to tell you."

 

* * *

 

_He was awoken by a hand shaking his shoulder. He mumbled something, and pushed the hand away, trying to get back to sleep. But whoever they were persisted, and eventually, he opened his eyes groggily, blinking away sleep._

_Lyanna sat on his bed, and he was awake the moment he saw the tears on her cheeks. "Lya," he said, touching one hand to her cheek to brush the tears away. "Lya, what is it? What's wrong?" He didn't understand. His sister was not a crybaby. What had gotten her so upset?_

_She curled up, bringing her knees to her chest. "He doesn't love me," she sobbed, burying her head into her knees. Her shoulders shook with sobs. Gently, he reached out, and began rubbing her back soothingly._

_"Who, Lya? Who doesn't love you? Is it Father? Or Robert?" He bristled at the thought of his brother's stupid friend hurting his sister's feeling. He didn't care how much older Robert Baratheon was than him. He would fight the other boy if he had to. "You know Father is only doing this for your own good. And Robert is just a stupid oaf who can't tell the difference between lust and love."_

_He felt a little proud of himself when his sister gave a soft chuckle, but the tiny smile that had appeared on her face disappeared. "No, it's-it's not Father. Or Robert. Although, gods' know you're right about that stupid oaf." She sighed, before admitting, brokenheartedly, "Rhaegar."_

_Benjen's eyes widened. He'd known his sister had been seeing the Targaryen prince, had known that she thought herself in love with him that same way Robert thought himself in love with her. He thought it somewhat foolish, but the prince had made his sweet sister happy, and so he was willing to let it go. Now, though? He would go beat up that prince now, if his sister would only ask it of him._

_"What? What did he do?" he growled, waiting impatiently for an answer. It took his sister a while to answer, and a few prompts of "Lyanna, answer me" to get a response._

_"He-he was always saying that he loved me, that he wanted to make me his queen, and that he wanted us to be together for the rest of our days. And I wouldn't care about any crowns or titles, just so long as he loved me for who I am." Benjen nodded, understanding perfectly what his sister meant. Robert Baratheon was in love with her looks and with her spirit, but not with her. He loved the idea that she could be his willful wife, bearing him children, and opening up her legs for him whenever he wanted. He didn't love her for the wild, free spirit that she was._

_His sister stopped. "Go on," he urged, wanting to know what went wrong. True, the Targaryen prince was already married and had two children. And Benjen did not want to see his sister become some man's whore, or paramour, or whatever they called it. But he wanted her to be happy, at least for a while before she had to be married._

_"But tonight, he was... different. He still whispered kind words and said sweet things. But he didn't tell me he loved me. He said that soon, I would give him his Visenya, that he needed his Visenya for some prophecy." She paused to take a breath and calm herself. "And then I asked him what he meant, what prophecy. And he told me that it was the Song of Ice and Fire. He said he needed a Visenya for his Aegon. He said he had a Rhaenys, but he needed a Visenya. He said that Elia couldn't bear anymore children, and I was such a young girl, and so in love."_

_"Gods, Lya, that's..." Benjen didn't have the words to describe what he felt right now. Disgust? Anger? Hatred? All three? More? He didn't know. What he did know, however, was that he wanted to punch Rhaegar Targaryen right in his pretty fucking face._

_"And I-I ran. He's mad, Benjen! He spoke of some great evil, and how only Aegon could stop it, and that Aegon needed to have Rhaenys and Visenya at his sides, like Aegon the Conqueror. And, oh gods, Ben, he's worse than Robert! He only wants me to give him a child, and then he'll use my child for whatever mad things are going through his head!" His sister was so scared and distressed, it tore at Benjen's heart._

_He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "Shhh, shhh, Lya. It's alright. We'll tell Father and Ned and Brandon, and maybe even Robert. They'll see to it that Rhaegar never sees you again. Don't worry."_

_It shocked him when Lyanna wrenched herself from his grasp. She stared at him with wide, panicked eyes. Frightened eyes. "No, no no no, Ben. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone. What do you think the king will do once he hears of this? Or Rhaegar? Or Princess Elia? The whole of Westeros will look at me as if I'm some whore, and Father and Ned and Brandon will all hate me. Everyone will hate me. And I'll have to leave. Please, Ben! Promise me, Ben. Promise me you won't tell."_

_He thought it all rather ridiculous, and that they should tell the others. But the pleading look in his sister's eyes stopped him. He couldn't betray Lyanna like that. Against his better judgment, he promised to tell no one._

_Some months later, he awoke in his room in Winterfell to find the Castle in disarray. Lyanna was missing._

 

* * *

 

Benjen found his brother sitting in what was once their father's solar, bent over a desk, looking at some piece of parchment that lay on the table before it. He was frowning, his lips moving, forming words that Benjen could not hear. Memories flooded him, from his childhood and from after the war. He could remember playing in here, chasing after his brothers and sister or being chased by his brothers and sister. He could remember running in, looking for his father and being lifted up and held by Rickard Stark, one of the few times the previous Lord of Winterfell's harsh nature had softened.

Most of all, he could remember Ned approaching him in this room, informing him of the death of their sister. How the news had torn at Benjen's very soul, overwhelming emotions of guilt and sadness consuming him. This was where he had learned that Lyanna was dead, and this was where he had told his brother of his decision to join the Night's Watch.

Ned had not heard him enter, so he cleared his throat.

Startled, Ned looked up from the letter, and his face broke into a smile when he saw who was in the room. Joy lit up in his eyes, although there was some other emotion mixed in there, too. "Ah, Benjen. It's good to see you again, brother." He stepped closer, embracing him tightly. Benjen returned the hug, grinning like an idiot at the sight of his older brother once again. When they pulled away, Ned's expression was troubled.

"Did you get my letter?" he asked quietly. With a start, Benjen realized that he hadn't read the letter, that it was still sitting in his bag, neglected and forgotten. It had been at the forefront of his mind when he had left the Wall, but somehow the thought had been lost.

He shook his head. "No, Ned. I seem to have forgotten in my haste to get here." He smiled again, but his brother paced absently minded behind the desk. If anything, he was even more troubled now. "Ned? What is it? What did the letter say?" It wasn't like his brother to write anything important in a message. He usually saved that for when Benjen was in Winterfell.

It took his brother some time to answer. When he did, he said in a resigned tone, "The letter said that I needed to speak to you about some things. Important things." Benjen nodded, not understanding why this would troubled and worry his brother so, until Ned said, "Things about Lyanna."

Benjen's heart clenched painfully. His brother had a similar look, and it seemed Benjen could see his brother clearly now. Ned's face was lined, worry and fear etched into his features. He was stressed, and from the tired look in his eyes, Benjen would have guessed that his brother hadn't slept in at least a day. What could be doing this to his brother?

"I-I don't understand. Brother, why? Why do we need to speak about-about..." It was painful to say her name. "...Lyanna?"

Ned sighed deeply, and his body was so tense, Benjen was surprised his brother didn't snap. His brother's stress was evident, and Benjen knew that this had nothing to do with being the Lord of Winterfell. Ned gestured for him to sit in one of the wooden chairs before the desk. Wisely, he took Ned's advice. His brother turned his back to him, staring out the window intensely. There was silence between them.

Thoughts raced through Benjen's mind. Was there some secret Ned was keeping about Lyanna? Was she alive? Was she alright? Had something happened? Was it about the Targaryens? Had Ned found out that Benjen had known? That he could have stopped this? How? Was he angry with him? He received his answer soon after all these ideas had gone through his head.

"When I arrived at the Tower of Joy, Lyanna was already dead." Benjen nodded, he'd heard this before. Ned and his seven companions had traveled to Dorne, seeking the Tower of Joy. When they entered, they found Lyanna dead, in a bed of blood and roses.

"I know this, Ned."

"But what you don't know," his brother said, snappishly, "is that we were not the first ones to find Lyanna dead. There were others, before us. Others that had been with her before, when she was alive, and knew what had happened. They left me a letter, explaining everything."

Benjen didn't think he could have said anything even if he tried. He-he didn't understand. He hadn't known. There had been others? Who? Who were these others that would just leave his sister to die like that? What were they doing there? Were they working for Rhaegar? Hurting his sister?

After a great pause, in which Ned appeared to be waiting for his response, his reaction, he somehow managed to choke out, "Who were they?" He hadn't realized he was crying until his brother turned to look at him. Ned gave him a soft, pain-filled, little smile, and brushed away some of his tears. Always the big brother.

"Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard." Benjen gripped the armrests of the chair so hard, he feared he might break them. So, Rhaegar had left his loyal knights to keep Lyanna hostage, and to make sure she couldn't leave. Of course the bastard would, in his madness.

"Did they... did they...?" He couldn't barely finish, could hardly bear the thought of those  _monsters_ touching his sister like that, raping her like Rhaegar probably did. Torturing her. Hurting her. Making her scream in pain and agony. Making her wish for death. He wanted to wrap his hands around the throat of each, squeeze with all his might, feel their pulses as they slowed to a stop. He suddenly understood what exactly Robert Baratheon must have felt, must still be feeling. "Did those bastards touch our sister?"

To his shock, Ned shook his head quickly. "No, no Ben. They did nothing to hurt her. The most they did was bring her to the Tower of Joy. They took care of her, watched over her. They... they were there when she died. They..." Ned trailed off, appearing uncertain again.

"How can you be certain?" Benjen burst out, anger and rage taking hold. They were Rhaegar's henchmen, his dogs, how could his brother trust them? His brother's eyes widened in surprise. Benjen jumped to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. "Tell me, Ned. How can you know? They were probably lying to you! You're too trustworthy for your own good, Ned!"

His brother's face had hardened into a mask, but his eyes were still soft and almost pitying. He waited for Benjen to calm down, to sit down and glare angrily at him before continuing. "I know, Ben, because I've met them. They are honorable men, and I would trust them with my life. Seven hells, I might as well trust them with my life, for all that they are protecting."

Benjen frowned, confused and unsure. The anger was quickly melting, being replaced with guilt at his outburst, but also such confusion. Why would Ned seek out the three men that had kept Lyanna in the Tower of Joy, that served the Mad King and helped Rhaegar?

"Why, Ned? Why?" He didn't know what he was asking, exactly. Why would you trust them? Why did you go? Why did they leave? Why would they be willing to meet you?

"Because, Ben," and now Ned paused, staring at the floor before lifting his eyes and meeting Benjen's gaze, "because they are protecting Lyanna's son."

His mouth hung open. His eyes were wide. He couldn't comprehend what he was being told. Lyanna? Had a son? It didn't make sense, but it did. The pieces were falling into place, and his mind began to work it out for him. The Kingsguard must have known that Aegon and Rhaenys were dead, and King's Landing belonged to Robert. That would make Lyanna's son - gods, Lyanna had a son? His sweet sister had a little boy? - the next in line. Of course they would protect him. But where would they go? Ned, as if reading his mind, answered that for him.

"They took the boy - Jon is his name - to Starfall, where they sailed to Braavos. There, they reunited with Ser Willem Darry, who was protecting Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys. That's where I met them the first time. Since then, they've been around the Free Cities, running from Robert's assassins. Right now, they're in Volantis." His brother's tone was resigned, and Benjen wondered if that was because Ned had too many duties to go see the boy and his protectors.

"And my nephew?" Benjen asked, excited and afraid for this boy he didn't know. Jon. Named after Jon Arryn? Or Jon Connington? He wasn't sure if he should breathe easy because his nephew was protected by the Kingsguard, or fear for his life because if Robert knew... Robert would stop at nothing to have him killed.

Ned smiled fondly. "He looks every inch a Stark, though his eyes will resemble his father's in some lights. Arthur Dayne tells me that he has the best of his mother and father, and that he will make a good king." The affection in his brother's voice reminds Benjen of the way Ned would speak of Lyanna and her antics, or Brandon and his occasional giggly and happy bouts of drunkenness (even if there was always a hint of disappointment for the heir of Winterfell, as getting drunk all the time was not something heirs should do), or Benjen and memories of when he was younger. Ned's eyes darkened, though, and he lost his smile. "I've told my most trusted lords. They know. And when Jon returns to Westeros, we will fight for him."

"Fight for him?" Benjen's mouth hung open. "Another war, Ned? You would risk tearing this country open for a  _boy_?"

Ned all but growled, "For Lyanna's son. He will never be safe, not unless he returns. I failed Lyanna, and the only way I can ever make it up for her is to keep her son safe and protected. Alive. And I will never be able to do that, not unless he sits on the throne with an army at his feet. Otherwise, Robert and Tywin Lannister and all the others will hunt him to through all seven hells. He can only be safe once his enemies are defeated. So yes, Benjen, I will fight for our nephew. I owe Lyanna that much."

"Even against Robert?" Robert was Ned's closest friend - his best friend, practically his brother. They had fought Robert's Rebellion together, had put Robert on the throne instead of the Targaryens. And now Ned wanted to declare war on him once this nephew of theirs returned from the Free Cities? Ned was not bloodthirsty, and he certainly had no love for war. So why?

There was a sadness so deep in Ned's eyes, Benjen thought he could drown in it. "Yes. The lone wolf dies, Ben."

"But the pack survives," he answered immediately. And maybe he didn't completely understand why his brother would do such a thing for this boy Benjen had never met, but he did understand that this boy - this Jon - was family, and they were a wolf pack. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

_And winter is coming._

 

* * *

 

_"Do you think you'll ever get married, Lya?" he asked her. They were lying on the grass, gazing up at the stars. If Father caught them, they would be dead. But for the moment, Benjen did not care. And Lyanna never cared._

_She laughed cheerfully. "No." Of course not._

_Still, he asked, "Do you think you'll ever have children?"_

_She did not answer for a time. When she did, she said, "Yes. I think I will."_

_"But how can you have children and not be married! Your children will be bastards, Lya!" He was staring at his sister in shock and horror. Why would she wish that upon her children?_

_But his sister smiled. "They will not be bastards. They will be my children, and so they will be Starks."_

_Benjen pondered this for some time. Confused, but curious, he asked, "Do you want daughters?" Lyanna was silent for a long while. Benjen feared he had done something wrong._

_"No," she finally answered. "I don't want any of my children to be forced to get married to some man they don't know. No, Ben, I want a son. At least one. One little boy. One little wolf."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry the update took so long. It shouldn't have taken me so long, even with the small amount I have to write, but for some reason it did. This was supposed to be a Bethany chapter, and I swear I'm working on it, but this came to mind and I had to write it. Let's hope this keeps you satisfied until the next chapter is ready. 'Til then.
> 
> erika: Thank you for the lovely comment (and to all others that left a comment). I'm not looking forward to Drogo either. But you mentioned Phantom Dragon and I just have to say, thank you about that. That was my first story (I'll get around to finishing it one day) but it was rushed and I really hoped that this one was better. You have no idea how insanely happy that makes me feel. Thank you so much for that.


	10. Bethany II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Even if she had only been with them for a month, had she not proven to them that she was trustworthy, that she cared for the children and would do anything for them? That she was loyal to her king? Was it not enough that Ned Stark himself trusted her with this, who was their boy king's own nephew? What more did she have to do? Kill for them? She would do it gladly, if it meant protecting Jon and Daenerys. (She didn't bother to ask herself how such a short time could inspire such loyalty to children, because she knew that she would not come up with an answer, for there were no words to explain it.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna post this before real life gets in the way and takes away all my writing time. I don't know why I'm so focused on Lyanna this chapter and last (and a little bit of the one before), but here it is. [crossfirehurricane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crossfirehurricane/pseuds/crossfirehurricane) mentioned Arthur/Lyanna feels, so I blame you for putting the idea into my head.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments last chapter and any before. Comments are fun. It's always interesting to hear what you guys have to say.
> 
> UPDATE: I've finally gotten around to adding in a bit about Arthur and Gerold's conversation like I mentioned doing. I feel like it's okay, but if it seems a little awkward how it is, please let me know.

There were few things in the world that could make Bethany Snow scared enough that she would lose her mind. The first would be losing her family. Maege and her daughters were all that Bethany had ever known, besides her father. She would rather die than let anyone ever harm any of them. The second would be the sea. She had crossed the Narrow Sea in a ship, and that had been fine. But she could never hope to actually go into the water, which made sailing a bit unpleasant for her. She hated being unable to see the bottom, surrounded by an inky blackness that seemed to suffocate her . . . the sea was not her place, and she was thankful to have not been born an Iron Islander.

The third, as she had recently discovered, was the thought of losing either of the Targaryen children. Dany reminded her very much of Dacey when she had been younger, minus the mace, of course. The girl had a spirit and strength few could ever find in a woman, and Bethany was certain Daenerys would be a strong leader, one that would be remembered throughout all of history. If only her brother was not there to quench the flames that burned inside of little Daenerys.

Jon, though solemn and quiet, was powerful in his own way. And not just because the young boy was to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. She had seen that fierceness in his eyes, most evident when Viserys was around him. Jon still had to grow out of the meekness he had, but once he did, even Viserys would cower in fear. Jon was as much a dragon as he was a wolf. Few wished to fight with either creature, but the two together, joined into one body and heart and mind? It would be madness to think angering the boy would not bring its own consequences.

So she held onto the small boy tightly, the fear of losing him too much to bear. She'd been there for less than a month and already she felt like the children were her own. Which was a strange experience; Dacey and Alysane and all the others, though having spent a great part of their lives with her, were not her daughters. They were Maege's, and Maege's only. But Jon and Dany had no mother, had had nothing of the sort since they were five years old. Bethany was all they had, and for the moment, it appeared to be enough.

She was aware of how close Arthur Dayne was, of how, for once, he didn't seem to care that he was pressed up against her like this. He was concerned for both children, but for Jon especially. He cared for Daenerys, but he loved Jon as if the boy was his own son. If anything had happened to the boy, there would be nothing in all seven hells that would stop Arthur from seeking his own justice. So for this one time, it would seem, he was perfectly willing to ignore the dislike he held for her in exchange for being close to the child he loved with all his heart.

"Jon? What happened to your room?" She heard Gerold ask him from somewhere behind her. She did not turn to look at the older knight, instead keeping a watchful eye on Jon. They needed to know who had put him in danger.

Bethany expected a look of fear, expected Jon to back away in fright, or to refuse to speak, too traumatized by what had happened to speak about it. Instead, he had a strange expression on his face. It was . . . confusion? He was confused by this?

"What do you mean? What happened to my room?"

It felt like something cold had wrapped its hand around Bethany's heart. She couldn't explain the fear that spread through her even if she tried. Slowly, she turned to look first at Arthur, who was as unsettled as she was, and then to Gerold.

"Jon, whose window did you climb back in through?" Gerold asked him carefully, tentatively, like he was afraid of the answer.

Jon pointed to the window across the room. "Dany's. Why?" And Bethany found it strange that of all the places for Jon to come, it was Dany's room he would come to first. Why not Arthur's or her own, or even Gerold or Oswell? Why Dany?

Trying to keep her voice calm and steady, despite the growing panic she felt, Bethany asked, "Gerold? What is going on?"

"I don't know. I-I don't understand. If it wasn't Jon, who damaged his room? And why?" No one gave him an answer. She felt the suspicion of the others on her immediately. Well, all except for Jon and Dany, who were too young to understand why she would be the first suspect in this mystery. It hurt, though, to know that after all that had happened, all that she had done for them, they still did not trust her completely.

Even if she had only been with them for a month, had she not proven to them that she was trustworthy, that she cared for the children and would do anything for them? That she was loyal to her king? Was it not enough that Ned Stark himself trusted her with this, who was their boy king's own uncle? What more did she have to do? Kill for them? She would do it gladly, if it meant protecting Jon and Daenerys. (She didn't bother to ask herself how such a short time could inspire such loyalty to children, because she knew that she would not come up with an answer, for there were no words to explain it.)

She opened her mouth, prepared to defend herself from the onslaught of accusations and questions that would come. She didn't have to. Bethany was already watching Gerold, and on his face and in his eyes, she saw a sort of sickening realization come across him. A look of horror appeared, followed by some kind of grim determination, as if he had accepted a hard truth.

"Gerold?" Her voice seemed to snap him back to reality. The distrust had left him, and he looked upon her with no emotion at all. At least it was better than anger, or hatred.

Gritting his teeth, he replied, "I think I have an idea who might be behind this-" At that, they all had turned their heads to him, eyes wide and ears open. _We must look something like cats,_ she thought dryly, _surprised at a sudden noise._

"Who-" Arthur began, a hint of rage creeping into his tone. He was cut off by Gerold.

"-but I have to be certain." The Lord Commander said no more, instead gazing at the two children that were kneeled down beside her, before he walked right out of the room. His steps were angry, nearly stomps rather than steps.

It wasn't surprising when Arthur practically jumped to his feet and all but ran out of the room, intent on learning what Gerold knew. Oswell, though, stayed. He stood awkwardly by the door, as if unsure what to do.

Of all the Kingsguard, Bethany knew Oswell the least. Arthur had a strange relationship with her, switching randomly between liking her, looking upon her with fondness, and hating her guts, growling nearly every time she came near Jon or Dany. Gerold wasn't as friendly as Arthur could be, but he was still a good leader, and helped her when he could. Oswell, she barely spoke to.

The voices of the two men outside the room could be heard. They were quickly gaining in volume, and Bethany feared they would soon be shouting. That would do nothing to help the already skittish Jon and the worried Dany.

"Would you close the door, please?" she asked Oswell kindly. She was thankful that the shouting hadn't started, and that neither Jon nor Dany had asked why the door needed to be closed or what was wrong with Arthur and Gerold.

Oswell did as he was asked quietly. When the door was shut, he continued to stand by it for a few moments, before deciding that there was no reason to and that Bethany would not bite. He dropped to his knees beside her, eyes fixed on the children.

She could see the love and affection in his gaze, the same she and the others held for them. The children saw her as a mother, and (at least Jon, she knew) Arthur as a father. They loved Oswell no less, however. He was as much a part of their lives as Arthur was.

He drew in a shaky breath beside her, a sign that he was about to speak. "Did you . . .?" He didn't finish his question, and he did not need to. She knew what he was asking; they both did.

"No. I would never. I could never hurt either of them." She turned her head, staring into his eyes as she continued. "My loyalties lie with them. I would rather die than betray any of you."

Oswell believed her, she could see that. He looked away, back to the children. Daenerys still hugged Jon, and Jon still hugged her. They were watching them intently, but she doubted they understood any of it. They were tired, she could see that from the way they fought to keep their eyes open. The energy that kept them awake had vanished, and now they were sleepy and needed rest.

Gently, she nudged Jon. "Come on," she said softly. "You need to sleep, my little king." He did not fight, as he would have most nights. Both stumbled to their feet, crossing the room to the bed both had previously been lying on. She helped them up into it, not bothering to change their clothes. They were too exhausted for that, and wished to only sleep.

It still made her smile when Daenerys took hold of her hand and requested, in a quiet voice interrupted with a yawn, "Tell me a story."

She exchanged an glance with Oswell, who had come to sit at the foot of the bed. Bethany was about to tell them no, they needed to sleep, when she began to hear the sound of Arthur and Gerold. Knowing their arguments would only distress the children, even in this state, she did not refuse.

"Once," she started, thinking of ideas to use, "there was a lovely princess, and she lived in a castle by the sea. She heard the sound of the waves every day, and could smell the ocean spray all the time. She loved it there, but she was lonely. She wanted her prince to come, to marry her and live with her. But her father did not want anyone to take his daughter away from him. So he kept her castle a secret, and kept his daughter close to him, and him only.

"One day, she decided to go out exploring. She wandered the woods for hours, until it was nearly night time. When she realized this, she tried to hurry back. Her father would not be happy. But she only got more and more lost. She had no idea where she was, and she was beginning to become frightened."

Jon had fallen asleep. Dany was fighting sleep so she could hear the story. The young princess was curled against her nephew, her head tucked beneath his. He had an arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close even in sleep.

"She was scared. And then, out of nowhere a huge animal appeared. It was a-" and she paused, allowing Dany to fill it in with her imagination. Her expectation was for Dany to say a dragon, but was pleasantly surprised when the girl stated as excitedly as she could, "A wolf!"

Bethany smiled, and pressed on with the story. "-it was a wolf. He was a big wolf, bigger than any she had ever seen. His fur was as white as the moonlight, and his eyes were as red as blood. She was afraid of him. But he didn't attack her. He moved closer to her, sniffing her and staring at her strangely. His eyes seemed to say, 'Follow me. Come with me. I will help you.' She followed him, and she knew he would not hurt her. He took her to a cave. She slept there, warmed by the huge wolf who lay protectively beside her. She dreamed of a prince, who was kind and handsome and who loved her.

"When she woke up, she thought she was still dreaming. Because where the wolf had been the night before was the prince from her dreams.”

“What did he do?” Daenerys interrupted sleepily, and gave a big yawn. Bethany smiled at her fondly and kissed the top of her head.

“The prince sat up, and he said, ‘I have been dreaming of you for a long time. You’re to be my Queen.’ And he pledged his love to her with a kiss upon her lips. When she asked him why he turned into a wolf, he told her that he would take the form of a wolf whenever she was in danger. He would always protect her, and he would always love her.” She stopped her story, seeing that Dany was almost asleep.

The little girl peeked at her from her drowsy eyelids. “That was . . . a nice story.” Bethany could barely hear her words, they were so low.

“Only the best for you, my little princess.” Dany snuggled closer, resting her head on Bethany’s chest. She chuckled, trying to push Daenerys away gently. “Dany,” she whispered, “you have to move over. I have to go to bed too, sometime, and when I get up, I’ll wake you.”

“You can sleep here with us,” was the reply she was given.

“There’s barely enough room. It won’t be very comfortable.”

Still, Dany was nothing if not stubborn. “But I want to snuggle with someone!”

She had managed to push the child away, and began scooting her over to her slumbering nephew. “Snuggle with Jon. He won’t mind.”

“But he’s always cranky in the morning. He doesn't like it when he wakes up and I’m snuggling with him,” Daenerys complained tiredly. Despite what she was saying, Dany did move close enough to hug Jon.

“You know he loves it. He loves you very much, and if you want to snuggle, he won’t be able to say no.” There was no answer given, so she took that to mean Dany had fallen asleep. As quietly as she could, Bethany stood up from the bed, and started crossing the room with soft steps.

Oswell was waiting for her in the doorway. Once she had left the bedroom, he closed the door quietly. He turned to look at her, a half-smile quirking his lips up and amusement in his eyes. “You’re very good with them,” he said to her in a murmur. They were still close enough that, if they were too loud, they could wake the children.

She nodded her agreement. “I've had lots of practice.”

“Did you make that up on the spot? Or have you been telling that to Maege Mormont’s children for ages?” He pressed, voice curious.

“I made it up. After a while, it becomes easier and easier. At least with Dany. I think Jon would probably prefer a story with more action and adventure than princesses. But I've only had Maege’s daughters to tell stories to,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. It was second nature to her now. Dacey and Alysane had loved stories when they were younger, and the same love had been passed onto their sisters.

“Well, I..” and this Oswell started to say with some reluctance, casting a nervous glance her way. She gestured for him to continue speaking. He seemed to have gathered up his courage when he said, “Well, I am glad you’re here. Gerold and Arthur, they may not act like it, but they are too.”

She gave him a grateful smile, even though in her head, Bethany was saying to herself,  _Gerold, maybe, but I don’t know about Arthur._

 

* * *

 

Arthur Dayne entered her room after she had finished her story to the children and was preparing to sleep. Jon and Dany were asleep in the young girl’s rooms, at least until they managed to clean Jon’s room up and make it less disastrous.

The Sword of the Morning had been gone the entire day after his fight with Gerold. From the sounds of it, and from what Gerold later told her and Oswell, Arthur had been in a dark temper and had stormed out of the house. Gerold said that he had only seen Arthur that angry one other time.

“It was when Lyanna was still alive, before she birthed Jon,” Gerold had explained upon her look of confusion. “You know how women get when they are carrying a child. She had cried over everything, but mostly, it was her betrothal to the Stag, and Rhaegar taking her away.”

The Lord Commander had sighed then, a long, deep sigh, filled with regret and pain. “I’m not sure who enraged Arthur more: the Stag or Rhaegar. But his face… his eyes burned like a madman’s, and his teeth were bared like a wolf’s. We very nearly had to stop him from riding to find both men.”

“He loved Lyanna, then.” It wasn't a question. Bethany knew of such signs, had seen them in Maege and Dacey, even herself a few times. She understood what it was like to feel in love, to want to die for that person, to wish to kill anyone who dared harm them, even if you were not a killer. She would never have suspected that of Arthur, especially not for Lyanna Stark, but love was not something you just chose.

Gerold shook his head, not as an answer, but just to show his uncertainty. “I could not say. Nor is it my place to say. What was between them… there is nothing to be said of it now. She is dead and Arthur has more important things to focus on.” And that had been the end of that.

Except that that wasn't the end of it. Not for Bethany.

After that conversation, she had begun to wonder. The others, they had all taken to liking her. They trusted her, even if earlier she had been their first suspect. But that was to be expected in some way; she was the newest addition, and therefore, the most likely to be a traitor. In the end, though, they had apologized in their own ways for the mistrust they had shown.

Well, with the exception of Arthur. But he was before her now, and she had been thinking, and she thought she might understand the Sword of the Morning. She thought she understood why he still did not seem to like her, why it was harder for him to trust her.

His clothes were misshapen and out of place, rugged and dirty and not at all like his usual apparel, and his silver hair was tied back but loose strands were falling out and into his face. He looked lost, but upset at the same time. The way he walked into her room, with uncertain footsteps, not quite finding a good balance, had her thinking that he was drunk.

Arthur opened his mouth to say something to her, a frown gracing his features. He was still angry, she could see that, although some of it had dissipated. He was not in a rage, at least. Bethany spoke as he was about to begin, not caring that she was interrupting him. He would just have to learn to live with someone that would say what was on their mind when they wanted to.

"So what did Gerold say? About Jon's room?" Gerold had refused to speak of it and Bethany had not pressed. She would make more progress in hitting her head against a stone wall in the hopes of knocking it down; if Gerold would not say anything, he was too stubborn to be persuaded out of his silence. Arthur, however, was not.

He growled, "Just more of the old man's suspicions. He served Aerys, was loyal to him, but never completely trusted him. His feelings did not change for Rhaegar, and they certainly have not changed for Viserys."

"He thinks Viserys did this?"

"Aye. Although how he could have done it without attracting anyone's attention escaped both of us. He gave up on it once he thought about it. The boy isn't smart enough for that," he said with a dark chuckle, swaying slightly on his feet. Bethany reached a hand out to help him. He pushed her hand away, as though offended by the idea of help, and steadied himself.

She let her hand drop back to her side. "So you don't believe Viserys was the cause."

"I don't know what to believe." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Viserys could have done it. Jon could have done it.  _I_ could have done it in my sleep, for all we know. Why does it matter now? Jon is safe, we're all alive. We know to keep better watch on their rooms at night. There is nothing to worry about."

Bethany did not mention the fact that something like this did matter, very much so. Someone had all but destroyed Jon's room, probably hoping that he would have been there. They were lucky that Jon had decided to go sleep in his aunt's room. And they still did not know who had done it! But Arthur's face was determined, and he was hard enough to deal with sober. She did not want to have to fight with a drunken Arthur Dayne over this. At least, not when she could talk to him about it the next day when he was just a bit more reasonable.

Neither of them had anymore to say on the topic, or chose not to say anything. Bethany waited to be sure Arthur was not going to leave, or pass out, or start whining and arguing about something else. When it appeared that he preferred to stand there in silence for the moment, she began the conversation she had been thinking over ever since her talk with Gerold.

“Did you love her?” she asked, voice soft and gentle. A simple question, yet it threw Arthur completely off.  His anger practically disappeared, and was replaced by a hurt and confusion she would expect an animal that had been hunted and shot for food would have.  _Why?_ His eyes asked, but his words asked a different question.

His voice shook and quavered when he spoke, directly in conflict with the way his body seemed intent on showing strength. His hands were balled into fists by his sides, his muscles pulled taught. “Who are you speaking of?”

Bethany kept her face blank. “I think you know who I am talking about, Arthur Dayne.” It was strange, calling him by his name and not just ‘Arthur.’ It was a second instinct, something she’d used on Maege’s daughters when she was being stern. Their full names exerted some kind of power that had them confessing to her in seconds. Or maybe they were just intimidated by her in the first place.

Whichever was true, Arthur’s pretense of having no knowledge as to who she was referring to dropped immediately. He looked defeated, lost even, and he sat down heavily in a chair, as though he could no longer hold himself up. “I don’t know. Yes, I think. I've-I've never been in love before. I don’t know what it’s like.” He chuckled bitterly, but his eyes showed pain.

She sat on the floor before him, legs crossed, and watched him. He would speak, she knew. There was no reason to push him. All would come out, if she was just patient.

Arthur ran a hand over his face, letting out a shuddering sigh. When he removed his hand, Bethany could see the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes.

“At first, I tried to distance myself from her. She’s only here because Rhaegar needs her, I told myself. There is no reason to get attached. But after a while, I could see her pain, see how much she hated Rhaegar, and Robert. How much she hated us. I tried to think nothing of it, until . . . until we received the news of what became of her father and brother.” His chest heaved, and he wiped at his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he was going to cry. Or already was.

“Go on,” she said, after a moment or two of only Arthur’s snuffling. He took a shaky breath before continuing.

“I don’t know why I volunteered. Probably because I was, at the time, the closest one to her. Although none of us could actually be called close to Lyanna.” It was the first time he’d said her name, and a sob escaped his lips before he could stop himself. He didn't really seem to care, though, and just spoke some more.

“I told her, and for a minute, she just stared at me. Like she didn't believe me. And then it all came crashing down, and suddenly, she was crying. She was wailing and crying for her father, her brother, begging them to come back, to rescue her. It broke my heart. I hadn't even realized I’d taken her into my arms until she was wrapping her arms around me, pulling me close, sobbing into my chest. I don’t know why, but I promised her I would take care of her, that I would do everything I could to protect her.”

He met her eyes, and hissed, “I should have known that there were some things I couldn't protect her from. Rhaegar, for one.” He spat out the deceased prince’s name, lacing it with venom and hatred the likes of which she had never heard from Arthur Dayne. “He would leave, every now and then, and after he knew he’d gotten her with child, he never stayed with her for long. He only cared about his damned Visenya.

“He began his visits with kindness, like he could remind Lyanna why she had fallen in love with him in the first place. It had worked before, but after her father and her brother… she saw him, and she hated. When he would bed her – and he stopped, thank the gods, after she became obviously pregnant – he was rough. There would be bruises on her arms and legs in the morning, from where he had held her down. She was always fighting, always screaming. Gerold and Oswell had to hold me back from going in there and running him through. I wish they hadn't. It was rape. It didn't matter that Rhaegar had married her, that she had loved him once, it was rape.

“Some months into the war, he stopped coming altogether. He sent messages, sometimes, but mostly, he seemed to have forgotten us.” He paused for a moment, looking up at the ceiling and closing his eyes. Trying to ward off the pain, she would guess. “The only woman I had ever loved before had been my sister. That’s how I thought I loved Lyanna, at first. Like a sister. But then . . . then I started to have other thoughts.

“I was always making plans, thinking of how I could get her away, take her North, back to her family. Or maybe across the Narrow Sea, where she and the child could live free from the curse of Rhaegar and the Stag. That’s all I would think of, at the beginning. But then, I started to picture myself there, with her and her child. I would think, what if I were to go with her to Winterfell? I could watch over her child, train them, be it boy or girl. I could protect them from the Stag or from Rhaegar. Or, we could escape to Essos. I could find work, I could take care of them. I could be a father to the child, because they should never know their true father. I could-I could . . .” He trailed off, tears now falling form his eyes. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and he buried his face in his hands.

“I didn't know. I didn't understand. Not until she was gone. It felt like she had taken a piece of me with her, like I had been whole with  her and then I wasn't. I could have saved her. And I didn't. I failed her.”

Now Bethany knew it was time for her to speak. She reached forward, and her fingers brushed his cheek softly. He lifted his head, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes.  _Like a child,_ she thought. “No, you have not failed her. Her son lives. Her son lives and he knows peace. Jon is alive, and you've taken care of him for all these years.”

Arthur was in denial, shaking his head and babbling, “No, no, Lyanna, she’s-she’s-“

She was thankful her voice was steady, despite the ache in her chest, her heart, the horrible sadness that afflicted her, after hearing Arthur's tale. He needed something to hold on to, some anchor, and she had to be the one to provide it. “There is nothing that can be done about that. There was no way you could have saved her, Arthur. Whatever has happened, you've saved her child. And there’s nothing more she could have asked you for.” The Sword of the Morning calmed down, just a little, as he heard those reassurances. He still cried, and the occasional sob or two would escape.

Men almost never cried, especially not in the presence of women. But Arthur Dayne did not appear to care in this moment. He was hurting, suffering, and he just wanted some relief from it. And Bethany would not judge him for it, because she understood. Every man had a weakness, every man could break, and at that moment, Arthur Dayne was on the verge of it. She would not let it happen.

After he had wiped his eyes, and there were no more sobs or whimpers or cries, Bethany finally chanced to ask the question she had been nearly dreading since her talk with Gerold. “Do you look at me and . . . and see her? Is that why you don’t like me? Why you don’t trust me as much as the others? Because I remind you of her and you don’t want to remember the pain of losing her?”

For just a second, she feared he would hit her, or worse. His eyes had hardened, and there was something hidden in his expression. Then, the fire, or whatever she had seen, was gone, and he was open and empty again. Dropping his gaze, he nodded his head pathetically. “Yes. Yes."

He shook his head bitterly, some of his silver hair falling into his face. He pushed it away, behind his ears, and after a moments pause, raised his dark eyes to meet hers again and began to speak. “I know you aren't twins. And I know you aren't a Stark. But your hair is the same color, and you braid it like she did. The way you act, so fierce and protective of what you love, but so caring and careful too, it’s like her. I saw you and wondered if the gods had seen fit to punish me for loving her. If they had sent me her likeness to torture me.”

Then he did something she had not expected. He dropped to his knees in front of her, looking into her face for just a moment, before all but falling against her. He hid his face into her neck, sobbing once again. She hesitated, unsure what to do. This was Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the mentor of King Jon Targaryen. But after another broken cry, she knew that the man against her was just Arthur, a poor, tortured soul, searching for comfort no one else could give him.

Bethany held him, one hand cradling his head, the other rubbing his back soothingly. She’d never have expected this of Arthur Dayne, but then again, love and pain came hand in hand, and you could not really expect one without the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please give me feedback. I don't feel so sure about this chapter. I liked writing the feels but I don't know if I got it down right. Help me to improve.


	11. Arthur III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It seemed as though the moment he let his guard down, straightened from the crouched pose he'd had, and considered that perhaps they'd walked past or hadn't seen where they'd gone at all, three men appeared to block their exit. There was no doubt as to why._
> 
> _"Move," Arthur called out menacingly, "and perhaps I will grant you a quick death." Only a fool would let them live, now that these men knew where they were and could easily chase after them the moment Arthur and the boys were away._
> 
> _"Give us Viserys Targaryen, and his nephew, Jon Blackfyre."_
> 
> _Arthur hid his panic at knowing the Stag almost definitely knew Jon was alive. Instead, he smirked and answered, "Is the usurper king Robert Baratheon too scared of a boy to acknowledge his House? Or is he just as ignorant as he was during the Rebellion?"_

"Enough, you two!" Arthur hissed, gripping the necks of the two boys as he steered them away from the crowded market. Viserys remained as still as he could, not bothering to put up a fight. There was no point, and he knew that. Jon, however, struggled in the young knight's grip. 

Gritting his teeth, the young boy growled in frustration, "Arthur, let me go." Reaching out, he made as if to scratch at his older uncle. "Viserys started it, let me go, Arthur. Let me go!"

Arthur shook his head, leading them down a deserted street. Once they were fairly well hidden, he pushed the two boys up against the wall of the nearest building. They both grunted and stared at him with wide eyes. He was very close to losing his temper, and he knew that they knew the tell-tale signs of his anger.

"You two," he snarled angrily, "will stop your bickering. You will keep quiet. You will do only as I tell you too. And you will not, under any circumstances, remove the hoods that cover your faces. It's bad enough that we were separated by those damned spies. We don't need to run around the city trying to hide because you two idiots couldn't keep your mouths shut!" 

Jon's eyes immediately lowered in shame, while Viserys glared defiantly for all of ten seconds before lowering his to the ground in a similar manner. Arthur nodded his approval, and putting one hand on each boy's shoulder, he carefully guided them back out to the street. The sun was not at its highest yet, just barely shining down upon the city of Myr. Even so, the people were up and busy with their work, moving around the streets and speaking amongst themselves.

If it were Lys, they may have been able to escape their pursuers without the hoods, as the Lyseni had a similar silver hair and blue eyes to the Targaryen children. As it was, with their light skin and light hair, none of them truly blended in here.

Arthur glanced behind them every once in a while, to check whether they were being followed or not. As he looked back, he could still see the men that were intent on murdering them. There were four of them, and there had been at least three more, but they left in pursuit of the others. Arthur should have had another Kingsguard with him, or at least Bethany, but the attack had been a surprise. His instincts had kicked in and he grabbed the two closest to him and ran. Those two happened to be Jon and Viserys. He had no way of knowing how the others were faring.

Sighing deeply, he continued to lead them through the crowd, closer and closer to the docks where they were to meet with the others. From there, they would board a ship and escape to some other location.  _Perhaps Qohor,_ Arthur thought to himself,  _the Stag expects us to keep near the sea. He might not be expecting us to get as far away from it as we can. Of course, then we would not be able to escape by the sea and our trail would be just a little easier to follow. But maybe it would be worth it._

There were times when Arthur desperately wished they had taken Lord Stark up on his offer. To live in the North, raising Jon and Daenerys, without the fear of being found at any time (well, much less of that fear) would be a relief. Moments like this very minute.

But then, Arthur would of course remember the price of that offer. Jon would be raised as Lord Stark's bastard son, Dany would be hated for the crimes of her father and brother, and the Kingsguard, in order not to draw too much suspicion, would have to leave. They would likely never see the children, who would grow up in the shadows of who they really were, unable to truly ever be at peace with their identities. 

_Damn you Lord Stark._

Bethany told stories to the children, of her childhood and her life. Arthur listened much of the time, curious about the northern bastard girl's history while he took up the duty of guarding the children during the night. She spoke of what it was like to be a child on the street, of the cold and the dirt, the hate and jealousy, of stealing and running away and getting caught. Of course, she would sometimes make it all the more exciting and less tragic for the children. But on the nights when she kept it truthful and real, she often gave them a lesson by which she expected them to learn from.

Arthur could remember how one night, she had told them of when she had stolen from a man who had more than enough food to spare. The guards had chased her down the streets of White Harbor, and though they were grown men, she easily managed to outrun them. The trick, she revealed to them, was that she knew every nook and cranny, every stop and every corner, every street of that city. Years on the street, practically on her own, had revealed to her the secrets of the city that even the guards did not know.

He too had taken that to heart, and the next day, he had enlisted Bethany's help in exploring the city they now found themselves in. They did it for nearly five months of the year they spent in Myr, learning all they could in the hopes that it would one day help them.

By the gods was he glad they had put in the extra effort! He and Bethany knew the city better than Oswell or Gerold, and thankfully - hopefully - Bethany was with the others, leading them to safety.

Their pursuers must have gotten the same idea, too. It seemed like no matter which turn they took, which street they followed, how many people surrounded them, the spies knew just where everything was. The thought was more than a little troubling, and Arthur had to wonder just how long these men had known they were in Myr.

The men were getting closer and closer, unburdened as they were of boys of ten years and seven-and-ten, in their rush through the streets. Arthur began to despair of keeping the two boys away from their pursuers. In a desperate attempt to get away, he pulled Viserys and Jon down a street and quickly turned right, down another. A street which ended, as Arthur knew, in a dead end. He pressed them against the wall, hoping the men hadn't seen them and that the shadows would hide them if the men passed.

Drawing his sword, Arthur moved so that he stood in front of them, protecting them. Never taking his eyes off the entrance, where the men could appear at any moment, Arthur reached down into his boot to produce one of the many daggers he kept on his person. Holding it by the blade, he moved his arm in Jon's direction, indicating that the younger boy take it. When he felt it leave his grasp, he said, "Only use it if you have to. Don't throw it, it's the only weapon you've got."

In this situation, Arthur had to admit that he trusted Jon more than Viserys with a blade, even if Jon was smaller and younger. Viserys could very well run at the first chance he got, where Jon would stay unless Arthur told him to run.

They waited for what felt like hours but was only a handful of minutes. The sun had barely changed its position. Arthur did not move, only watched the entrance, waiting for the first sign of trouble.

It seemed as though the moment he let his guard down, straightened from the crouched pose he'd had, and considered that perhaps they'd walked past or hadn't seen where they'd gone at all, three men appeared to block their exit. There was no doubt as to why.

"Move," Arthur called out menacingly, "and perhaps I will grant you a quick death." Only a fool would let them live, now that these men knew where they were and could easily chase after them the moment Arthur and the boys were away.

"Give us Viserys Targaryen, and his nephew, Jon Blackfyre."

Arthur hid his panic at knowing the Stag almost definitely knew Jon was alive. Instead, he smirked and answered, "Is the usurper king Robert Baratheon too scared of a boy to acknowledge his House? Or is he just as ignorant as he was during the Rebellion?"

"Shut your mouth, traitor! King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, Lord Protector-"

"Yes, yes, we get it. Protector of the Realm, King, blah, blah, blah. Please, you're boring us to death. At this rate, you won't even need to draw your swords, we'll be dead by the time you're finished speaking." He waved his hands dramatically, mocking them as best he could. If they wanted to talk, they could. And he would be the most infuriating asshole the'd ever met. With any hope, they'd become angry enough to just charge, and then Arthur could dispatch them easily.

All the men tensed as Arthur spoke. The one who he had interrupted appeared ready to run him through.  _Good._ Another took a step forward, and continued what the first had been saying. "His Grace, King Robert, does not recognize Jon Blackfyre as Rhaegar Targaryen's legitimate heir. He is dragonspawn, borne of the rape of the Lady Lyanna and the blood of innocents."

Arthur smirked, he could not help it. "And Robert knows this to be true? Was he there? Did he see this happen?" True, Rhaegar had raped Lyanna, and Arthur hated Rhaegar for it more than Robert Baratheon could ever hope to, but they spoke of Jon as though he wasn't even human.  _Dragonspawn. Is that what he called Rhaenys and Aegon, when he was presented with what was left of their bodies? Dragonspawn?_

Suddenly, the Sword of the Morning grew serious once more. He spoke, his voice as hard and cold and unyielding as the Wall in the North that Bethany told them stories of. "Jon  _Targaryen_ is the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, and nothing your false lord says can change that. Baratheon thinks he's safe? That he has the Seven Kingdoms to support him? He is wrong. We have an army of our own, waiting for the time when their king returns to take the Iron Throne."

As if to indulge him in his fantasies, the men shared amused glances, and one said, "Really? An army? Oh that is frightening! An army of imaginary dragons and men, loyal to dragonspawn. Ha, it's more likely the Others have returned." His companions joined in his laughter.

Their laughter died down, and so Arthur replied, "But you do realize that I cannot let you leave. I cannot allow you to return to your master. Whether you think it is a joke or not, Baratheon could become suspicious, and I will not allow my allies to be put in danger." Any amusement was gone, now replaced by their old anger. "So come on. Try and kill me. I hope you're all prepared to take on the Sword of the Morning. Or else, your fat, pathetic excuse for a king might be the next one with a sword in his belly."

That seemed to be the point at which the men would take no more. Two of them charged, the third one holding back. Immediately, Arthur cut down one. A swing of his sword, and the man was missing his head. The second one was almost just as easy. Arthur dodged the man's second charge, swiping at the man's legs, and then dancing away. The man fell to his knees, both his legs cut deeply at the joint. Feinting to the right, Arthur came in from the left, and sliced the man's throat. He fell to the ground, dead as the first one.

Which left the third one. This one was smarter, Arthur could tell. He'd waited, gauging his opponent's abilities as his two comrades were killed. The man must have been confident in his abilities, if he was so sure that it would be easy to take on Arthur Dayne on his own. Holding Dawn in one hand, Arthur slowly neared the last one.

"You know, it's sad, really," the man began saying, "that the Sword of the Morning has to die for a traitor's son, dragonspawn. A waste, truly. You would have made a wonderful addition to King Robert's Kingsguard. I have to say, it is an honor, fighting you. You were what inspired me to become a swordsman. I take no pleasure in killing you. Killing the dragonspawn however, I might enjoy just a bit too-"

Arthur did not care for the man's speech, and while he spoke, Arthur was struck by an idea. As slow as he could, he began circling the other. The man, so caught up in whatever he had to say, only paid attention to Arthur's movements. He began to circle as well, so that when Arthur stopped, the man had his back to Viserys and Jon. It was a risky move, but Arthur felt his idea would work.

"-and so, if anything, I'm sorry that all your achievements have been for nothing, Arthur Dayne." The man finished, a sort of pleased look upon his face. His opponent was smarter than the other two, yes, but he was still a stupid idiot.

Never taking his eyes off the other, Arthur called out to the princes. "Boys, do you remember what I told you not to do?"

"Yes," came the reply.

"Good. Now forget what I told you." The man before him, while still smiling in a smug way, had just the beginnings of a question forming in his eyes.

 _Please, please let them understand,_ he prayed silently.

Just as the man let loose a chuckle, ready to chide Arthur for his foolishness, his eyes grew wide, his body taut and back arched, a small gasp of pain falling from his lips. Taking the opening, Arthur closed the distance between them and shoved Dawn up, through the man's stomach and out his back. His eyes, which had been full of arrogance and glee in life, were now pale and unseeing in his impending death. Blood began gurgling out of his mouth, and choking sounds came from his throat.

Leaning in, Arthur whispered harshly in his ear, "You talk too much," before removing Dawn and letting the body fall to the ground. He turned back to the boys, already walking towards them. He was surprised to see that it was Viserys who stood there, still frozen in his stance after he had thrown the dagger, a shocked expression upon his face. He'd never killed a man before, and now a man lay dead just a few feet away, and Viserys had been part of the reason why.

He approached the boy, and laying a hand on his shoulder and told him, "The first is never easy." Viserys nodded dumbly, and Arthur moved on to the younger of the two. Jon looked fearful, but he allowed Arthur to embrace him gently. "Come on. We have to keep moving. There were four that were following us, and we've only met three. I don't want to wait around for the last man."

They left that street, Arthur continuing to lead them closer and closer to the docks. They needed to leave; they couldn't stay here anymore. The Stag knew of Jon, and his spies knew where they were. The longer they remained, the more likely it was that none of them would leave Myr.

The next time Arthur looked behind him, he found the fourth man. It was like time slowed, and their gazes met. Five seconds passed, then six, then seven. And suddenly, Arthur took hold of both boys and ran. He didn't need to look to know that the spy was following, and gaining quickly.

Arthur saw a street, and just like before, he lead them to it. Only this time, the moment they turned and entered the street, they were greeted by the sight of Bethany Snow, who was just as shocked to see them. Then Bethany yelled, "Get down!" He could see her sword raised, and pulled the two boys down to the ground, shielding them. Nearly right as they hit the street, the footsteps became louder, and were right behind them, until Bethany yelled. Then the footsteps stopped, and the silence was followed by the thud the body gave as it fell to the ground.

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur could see their pursuer had a deep, bloody, gash running across his chest and over his face. The man was dead, and Bethany stood above them, panting as if she'd run for miles. Arthur pushed himself to his feet, and pulled the boys up, too. When he was done checking them for injuries, he looked to Bethany.

The neat braid her brown hair was normally kept in was messy, hair coming loose and falling in her face. She was sweaty, and there was blood on her clothes. She had a cut on her neck and a bruise on her cheek. Her eyes, usually calm and somber, were fearful and wild. For a brief moment, Arthur wondered if this was what Lyanna would looked like when she used to play knight with her brothers. He shook such thoughts out of his head. He couldn't get distracted.

"The others?" he asked her, voice breathless from the exertion of energy. He looked over her shoulder, hoping to perhaps see them, but no such luck. If they were near, they were hidden. If not . . . that idea was better left not thought of.

His throat tightened when Bethany hesitated to answer him. "One of their swords caught Oswell in his leg," she admitted. "He's bleeding, and it's painful for him to walk, but he'll live." Arthur nodded, taking in a deep breath to calm his heartbeat. He didn't like that one of them had already been hurt, and that they were still not to safety yet. "The boys?" Her eyes were brimming with concern and stress, the wildness from the heat of their fight pushed back for the moment. They all probably had that look to them right now.

He realized that Viserys was probably not looking very good, probably a little sick, or worse. And Jon was likely in shock. After all, he'd watched three men get cut down before him, one of them beheaded. "Fine, not injured. Viserys helped me kill a man. If seeing those three killed had not made him ill before, his assistance most certainly did."

Bethany gave her affirmation, and gestured for them to follow. "This way, come on." She grabbed Jon's hand, pulling him along beside her. Arthur kept a hand on Viserys's shoulder, more to guide him than give him comfort. The comfort could come later, once they were all safe.

As Bethany had said, they turned a corner to another street and found the other three of their group. Gerold had taken a protective stance before the others, his sword drawn and held ready. When he saw them, he relaxed, a great portion of the tension in his body leaving, though much still remained. Oswell was behind him, leaning heavily on a wall. His teeth were gritted, and he was sweating. His eyes looked gaunt and sunken in, as if he hadn't slept for a long time. Daenerys was hidden beside him, trying to make herself as unseen as possible.

Jon ran over to his aunt, hugging her tightly. She returned the embrace, stepping away from Oswell. Arthur approached his fellow knight, looking him over with worry. A strip of Bethany's shirt had been wrapped around Oswell's right leg, and blood was already seeping through. The light cloth had turned a shade of dark red. He favored his left leg, and every movement had Oswell inhaling deeply to chase away the pain.

"How are you faring?" he asked the other carefully, already thinking of what they would need to help him. More cloth, and some sewing needles, if the wound was too open. Water and salve, to wash and clean the wound. Bandages. Perhaps a healer, too.

Oswell gave him a grim smile, managing to answer with, "Never better. Bet I could run this entire city five times and still be good as day." His voice was faint and weak, betraying the toll the injury was taking on his body.

"How bad is it?"

"Won't kill me. Will heal with time. Just need rest and some shelter." With an amused huff, he added, "and probably a maester. Guess we're not invincible. Who knew?"

"Arthur!" Gerold's call had him turning his attention to the Lord Commander. "What happened? How many were there? Did any get away?"

"We ran into four of them. I took care of three of them, with Viserys's help, and Bethany killed the fourth just moments ago," he reported. Gerold acknowledged, and twisted to face the others, opening his mouth to say something, before Arthur caught his sleeve. "Gerold, they knew. They knew of Jon, they knew where we were. They've been here for a long time, and we didn't know. Do you understand the implications of this?"

There was no dawning realization in Gerold's eyes, and none in the others' either. Only anger, black rage. Hate. Baring his teeth, he growled, "I suspected as much. Three days ago, I thought I noticed a man following me. He was good. Made me think I was only imagining things. Stupidly, I waved it off as nothing." Subconsciously, he and Gerold began moving in toward the street Arthur had come from.

"And the man?" Arthur asked curiously.

"I stuck my sword through his heart just a little while ago. Fucking bastard was one of them all along. I should have known."

"There is nothing that can be done about that now," Bethany told them in a placating manner. "No use in remaining stuck in the past when the present is more dangerous and the future is on the line."

"If they knew we were here for some time, and only struck now, they must have been waiting for a command."  _Which means,_ Arthur realized sadly,  _the Stag will increase his efforts. It was bad enough having two of the Mad King's children on the loose. But Rhaegar's son? Bastard or not, he will carry a personal vendetta against Jon._ "We should get moving and get away from this city. There's probably more, and I'd rather not risk running into them as much as we can."

The others agreed, and Gerold helped Oswell stand. He threw one of the injured man's arms over his shoulders and began half-pulling, half-carrying Oswell with them. Arthur and Bethany walked in front, keeping the children close behind them.

Bethany leaned over slightly, and dropped her voice to a whisper so the others would not have to hear. "Arthur, if they found out about us, and we received no warning, could it mean-"

"Maybe," he said, cutting her off. "The Spider could either no longer be our ally, or even his Little Birds have their limits. Whatever the reason, we're on our own for the time being."

"Blind. I don't like the sound of that," she murmured, a scowl appearing on her face. "If the Spider has truly left us on our own, we could find ourselves in more danger than before."

"I know. Believe me, I don't like it either. But we're just going to have to make do. We should head farther inland, maybe to Qohor or Norvos. They'll have a harder time finding us that way," he suggested to her.

"True. Hopefully we can find some means of travel. But first, we should leave this city. Our hope to throw them off our trail will mean nothing if we stay."

Arthur gazed over his shoulder, flicking his eyes over the rest of their group and behind them. The children were fine, Jon and Dany holding hands and staying as close to each other, Bethany, and Arthur as possible. Viserys remained close, but further back than his sister and nephew. The main concern, however, was Gerold and Oswell. They were lagging behind, a few feet of distance between them and the children. Oswell's limp was very obvious, and Arthur could see very clearly that many assurances he was given about Oswell's wound was far from the truth.

He wanted to slow down for them, continue at a pace that was good for Oswell. But they didn't have time. They needed to leave, and get as far away as they could. Gerold and Oswell would just have to stay as close to them as they could manage.

After nearly an hour, they made it to the docks. Gerold sent Arthur and Bethany to find a ship, while he and Oswell remained behind with the children. Together, they wandered the docks, speaking to captains and merchants, looking for a ship that was not too expensive for passage and would also take them to a destination that would aid them in their escape from the Stag's men.

Thankfully, they did. The fifth ship's captain they spoke to was willing to charge them a fair price for passage and was headed for Pentos. They accepted eagerly, and hurried to return.

The moment they made it back, Gerold asked, "Were you successful? Do we have a ship?"

Arthur gave him a nod,  _yes._ "Indeed.  _The Iron Lady_ is headed for Pentos. The ship is going to leave the docks, and some of his men will meet us in a deserted portion of the docks tonight. Bethany and I thought that from there, we could buy some horses and supplies and journey to Qohor."

"It would certainly throw the Stag off our trail for a while. He'll probably be expecting us to aim for water, so we can make a quick escape. He'll have his spies watching anywhere that ships land. We could probably pay off the captain, get him to let us leave before we reach Pentos. We could get horses and supplies from there, and continue on to Qohor." A tired smile on his lips, Gerold clapped his back. "As much as I hate the idea of having to wait, I'll take that. We can rest in one of the taverns. Good idea, Arthur. If we managed to hide for years in Braavos, think about how long we could remain in secret in the middle of Essos."

 

* * *

 

They found a tavern to stay in for the next couple of hours, and paid off the owner to keep his silence and keep them hidden. Jon and Dany were exhausted, and fell asleep almost instantly. Viserys fidgeted in the corner that he had chosen to sit in, his face an array of emotions that Arthur didn't bother to read. He had to focus his efforts on Oswell right now. His friend was pale, his blood soaking through the cloth covering his injury.

With Gerold's help, he had laid Oswell down on a bed, and propped him up against the wall. Without a word, they quickly began unwrapping the makeshift bandages off of his leg wound, pulling away the bloody cloth to reveal a deep cut across Oswell's shin. Arthur grimaced. He did not need to be a maester to know it was bad. It saddened him to know they couldn't risk looking for a healer, or having one brought to them.

Bethany nudged Arthur away, taking his place where he had stood beside the bed. In her hands was a wet rag, and she began to wash away the blood on Oswell's leg. The children were sleeping, and they thankfully would not have to see more blood. 

Blowing a strand of  hair out of her face, Bethany began issuing out orders. "Gerold, I need you to find anything to act as bandages. Make sure they're dry and clean. Arthur, get me more rags and wet them. There's not much we can do without a healer. At least we can leave the wound clean and bandaged."

They both hurried to get what they needed, and even though they knew Oswell would not bleed out, there was a feeling that if they didn't hurry, they would lose something. Arthur searched the room, and when he saw that what he needed was not there, he began to step out of the room. But not before he heard Bethany say, almost to herself, "Something isn't right here. I don't get it."

Arthur turned around to regard her with a curious look. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him, and something in her eyes had him sharing her sense of dread. "I just- The assassin that was chasing you and the ones that attacked us. I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" He was genuinely confused now. What could she possibly be talking about?

Bethany waved her hands around in a frustrated manner. "It's just that I noticed some things. The way they looked, what they were wearing, their weapons. They were small details, and I didn't think about it at first. But now that we are resting, and have time to think . . ." She trailed off, her eyes becoming unfocused for a few seconds before she looked at him with apprehension. "You weren't there, but the way the men attacked us . . . it felt like they were holding back. And the one that was fighting Oswell, that did this . . . he looked almost horrified. As if he hadn't meant to do it and was asking himself 'What have I done?'"

"What are you saying? That they were different men? And that the men that attacked you hadn't meant to actually hurt any of us?"

She shrugged her shoulders, but still looked disturbed. "I don't know. But I just hope that whatever I'm getting at, I'm wrong. If there is something else going on, that we don't understand, well, I'm not sure we're really ready to handle it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I hope you all had great holidays and enjoyed yourselves. I'm asking for feedback on this chapter. I was just not very sure on this while writing. The next chapter, which is a continuation of Arthur's POV, is almost finished. I should have it posted within the week (fingers crossed).


	12. Arthur IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Do the gods hate Targaryens? Is that why all this misery has been thrust upon us? Aerys? Rhaegar? Viserys? Have the gods cursed them all to be mad? Will they do that to the children too? Curse them to be like their fathers?_
> 
>  
> 
> _Maybe these gods do not care. Maybe Ned Stark was right, and we should have given him the children when we still could. Bethany's old gods have granted her some luck in her life. And right now, we need something like that to get us through this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't noticed, I got fed up with waiting until I posted again to answer comments, since it usually takes me somewhere from a two weeks to a couple of months. Plus, I don't want to fill the notes section with all the stuff I want to reply to. So there.
> 
> I almost forgot. Thank you for all the comments I did not reply to and kudos given. I appreciate every single one of you. Chapter 4 has been edited and is less awkward, I would say. Plus, it kinda fits more for the stuff that happens later on. And all the tags have been updated. I took away some (like Dany/Drogo) but they will be back.
> 
> (Also, this may seem like a stupid thing to say, but I've never seen the ocean, so I assume it's blue.)

Arthur shoved Viserys against the wall behind him, knocking the breath from the young man's body.  _Boy, he's just a boy,_ he had to remind himself. Viserys Targaryen was only seventeen years old, and even if his family was gone, he had relied on the Kingsguard for the last ten years to survive. He was only a boy, not a man.

_Am I really going to do this?_

_He's a threat, you know you have to._

_He's a child! He may have just had a fit when he saw that Jon was gone, or perhaps that letter was nothing at all._

_And why would he have a fit? Why would he write that letter, if he hadn't planned for our deaths? If not because everything was going wrong?_

_I can't. I can't. He's just a boy, it was just a fit, a moment of anger in which he made a bad decision. When has he ever given us reason to truly doubt that he is one of us?_

_A boy, maybe, but you have always known he was mad just like his father. And it's too much of a risk to keep him with the others. He could do this again, at any time. There's no way to make sure he doesn't! What if Jon wasn't gone then? What if you or one of the others can't reach him in time? Jon could die, and it could all be because you couldn't bring yourself to get rid of the danger!_

_I-I-I don't know-I can't-_

_How far would you go to protect Jon and Dany? How far would you risk your life to keep them safe? If you do not do this, they will **never** be safe!_

His internal battle had only lasted a matter of seconds, and during that time, Viserys had only let out a string of soft whimpers.

"Don't hurt me, I didn't do anything," the boy pleaded. "Don't kill me, please!"

Arthur stared into his face, looked into his eyes, as if that would bring him the answer, as if it would show him the way.  _By the gods, what am I supposed to do?_  His grip loosened a fraction, and that was more than enough to have Viserys all but sobbing in relief. One step farther away from death, the boy probably figured. He was a coward, always too frightened to fight his own battles, never working up the courage to do more than call for help and cower in a corner.

It was how he had always been. Even when he was young, a child, he had hid behind his mother's skirts when Rhaenys decided to chase him around the Red Keep. Arthur had once found that funny, a boy of seven years running from a girl of four. Now he found it sick, the memory tainted with Rhaenys's death, with Viserys' madness and how his cowardice could cost the two children he cared for most their lives.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, one hand reached up to Viserys' throat, cutting off the pathetic pleas he'd let out, the other tightening it's hold on his shirt, keeping him still. The boy's eyes widened with fear and tears gathered in the corners.

"I-I can't-" Arthur began, voice clouded with emotion. Threat or not, he'd known this boy before the madness had made itself known, and he'd been there to take care of him as they ran from their enemies. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I can't let you continue this trek into darkness. My mission has been to protect my King from the very beginning, and no matter your age, that is Jon, not you. And I love Daenerys as if she were my own daughter. If you were to stop, to put an end to this, I could let you go and we could forget about this entire night."

Viserys nodded his head frantically.  _Yes._ He didn't want to die, Arthur knew that. But he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before he continued. "But I cannot trust you. Your father made a hundred thousand promises, none of which he kept. Words are wind, and I cannot take the risk in waiting for you to prove that you will keep your word. You have become a danger, Viserys, a liability. And as much as it sickens me, I can't allow you to stay with us knowing that every time I turn my back on you, I can expect to be stabbed or worse."

The fear was back, the tears falling freely. His limbs shook, and he tried frantically to push Arthur away. He managed a few sounds, some pleads for his life. "If it's any consolation," Arthur told him softly, "I'm sorry."

 

* * *

 

 

**_Before_ **

 

"Arthur?" a muddled, far away voice called. He tried to focus on that, because there was no way this could be real. She was dead, he had watched her die, she couldn't possibly be here.  _It has to be a dream,_ he thought,  _it has to be a dream._

Her grin was feral as she looked down upon him, a mad she-wolf. Her pale eyes were sunken into her skull, having lost the beautiful, dark grey they once were. Dirty brown hair fell into her face, billowing around her as if there was a breeze. There was none, and yet the stench of a rotting body hit his nose. The dress she wore was in tatters, barely covering her body. Stick-like limbs, a body too skinny, cuts and bruises littering the skin that stretched over her bones.

A corpse. That's what she was. A walking, smiling corpse.

And she'd come to take her revenge.

"Arthur," she whispered, voice intermingling with the other that called his name. "Arthur." Strangely, that was the one thing that was not different, that had not been changed and rotted away. Her voice was still as clear and strong as it was when she had lived, though it was a whisper carried over the wind.

Her mouth didn't move in time with her voice. Actually, her lips never moved once. Her voice just carried over him, a spirit with its body standing before it. A soulless corpse.

"Arthur, why did you leave me?" she asked him, all the innocence that she had once carried in her gone. "You always leave me. Why did you go away?"

"I'm sorry," he tried to say, eyes watering with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I did all I could."

She continued, not hearing him. "You left me with him the first time, and the second, and every other time after that. You always let him hurt me. He had his way with me, abused me, imprisoned me. He claimed me as his prize and left me to rot in my prison."

 _Rhaegar, Rhaegar, Rhaegar._ Some voice whispered in his head.

_"You're a good friend, Arthur," the young Prince said. "I trust you with my life, and I trust you with my family's, too."_

_"No man could have asked for a better Kingsguard."_

_"You're my brother, you know that?"_

_"Help me, please Arthur. She's the one, I know it."_

_"Rhaenys, Aegon. I need my Visenya. She will give me my Visenya."_

_"My father is mad, come with me and we can save the Seven Kingdoms."_

_"My duty is to the realm, and sacrifices must be made for the realm."_

_"She is mine! I will hear no more of this! She is mine and I will not give her back!"_

"He did this to me," and it was as if she was standing beside him, whispering in his ear. "It's his fault, but it's also yours. You never stopped him, you left me. Like all the rest. My father, my brothers. He left me, and you left me."

Again, he tried. "I'm sorry, I'm sor-"

"And you left me again, when I was lying in that bed, bleeding out the  _monster_  that he gave me! You stayed outside my door, let me scream and cry and push that  _creature_ out of my body and never came once to see me. And when all was said and done, you took that  _thing_  and you left me in the tower!"

She wailed, high and loud. He wished to cover his ears and block out the sound, but even when he did, the sound did not diminish. He couldn't stop it, couldn't make it stop.

"Please, Lyanna! I didn't, I swear, you wanted me to take him. Jon was in danger, you wanted me to take him away. Please, I'm sorry."

"Arthur!"

"Arthur!"

_"Arthur!"_

 

* * *

 

He was jostled awake by someone's hand. He opened his eyes gradually, not in any mood to wake up and deal with all the problems of the real world just yet. He had dreamed of Lyanna, he knew that. Had heard her voice, and attempted to curl up more to chase the dream.

"Arthur," whoever it was said. Groaning, he obligingly sat up, stretching his back and getting the kinks out. He'd ended up sleeping on the floor, the reason for which he could not remember. All he knew was that he'd been exhausted when he'd returned from the errands he'd been sent on, and had wanted to get rest.

A hand smacked the back of his head. Wincing, he glared up at the person that had decided to wake him. Bethany stood before him, fists resting on her hips, a frown on her face, appearing for all the world like a disapproving mother.

"What, what?" he grumbled, cranky at his rude awakening. The sky outside the window was bleak and gray, and he didn't doubt that it would rain sometime during the day, if it hadn't already.

"Get up. The ship's going to leave soon, and Gerold wants to get there as soon as we can." Not another word was said. Bethany spun on her heel and walked across the room to where the two youngest children were sleeping together. She would probably wake them up in a kinder way than she had him.

Using the wall he had been leaning on as support, Arthur rose to his feet and quickly glanced around the room. Bethany, Jon, and Dany were accounted for. Viserys was beside the window, staring moodily at the world outside. Gerold was not in the room, but knowing the older man, he was probably waiting downstairs for them, making sure no threats were near.

Oswell was laid out on the bed. He was pale, paler than he should have been. Although, he had been worse off earlier. It had taken them nearly an hour to take care of his wound, and Arthur had been worried his friend would lose his leg. He wouldn't, Bethany insisted, but Arthur saw the fear and uncertainty there. Oswell wouldn't lose the leg, as long as they got somewhere safe soon and found someone to properly take care of it.

They could do it. They  _would_ do it. It was just a little frightening, having someone close to you this near to death.

Silently, Arthur promised himself that they wouldn't lose Oswell. They couldn't lose another, not again. Not this time.

Arthur rested his hand on Oswell's shoulder, watching the other give him a small smile and nod to signify he was doing okay. It was a lie; he was in pain, shown in the tightness of his expression and the shuddering breaths, and he was just as afraid as the rest of them. Arthur forced himself to smile back, and then approached Bethany.

"Do you think it will rain?" he asked softly. Bethany stood not far off, gathering what things they had brought and packing them. Her hair was ragged, falling messily in her face. She would blow the occasional strand away that would fall in her line of sight, but it mostly just fell back into place without her noticing.

"It's been like that for an hour or so now. I suppose it might." Her hands were jittery, shakily putting things in place. Arthur guessed the adrenaline that had kept her up and awake and working to help Oswell was beginning to wear off.

Like Oswell, he let his hand rest on her shoulder. She tensed for a moment, before relaxing more than she was before. His thumb rubbed absentminded circles into her shoulder, and he tried to give off an aura of calm and collected (although he was almost anything but on the inside). She needed it; they all seemed to forget that, while Bethany was the most parental of them all, she too sometimes needed someone to take care of her.

"All will be fine," he told her, hoping it came out as reassuring as he wanted.

She snorted. "Things like this rarely turn out for the best, I learned that a long time ago." Then she said, long and hard, as though tired of the world itself. "But I hope that for this at least, you're right. We could do with some luck coming our way."

"Good." He nodded, leaving her to finish her work. Viserys brushed past him, walking towards the door silently. Jon and Daenerys stood not far off, whispering secretly between each other and sharing giggles. They lifted their heads as Arthur approached them.

"When are we leaving?" Jon asked him after a moment's pause, his voice quivering with suppressed fear that he had likely forgotten as he and his aunt spoke. Arthur was proud of the boy's bravery. With a smile, he ruffled Jon's hair. They hadn't cut his hair in a long time, and the dark locks had grown, nearly reaching his shoulders. Jon swatted Arthur's hand away playfully, and the fear he had shown was gone.

Arthur opened his mouth to reply. Bethany beat him to it. "Right now." She pushed a bag into Arthur's hand, and held three others. When he gave her a questioning look, she said, "One for Gerold. One for Viserys. And one for me."

She marched right past him, only stopping to hand Viserys his bag. The oldest Targaryen was sitting out in the hall, waiting, or perhaps just wanting solitude from the rest of them. Arthur didn't know, and he really didn't try to. Viserys was . . . becoming a difficult boy. He was harder to understand, was not as pliant and attentive as he'd been before. Honestly, they had been lucky the boy had listened to them earlier, else they might be dead.

And if it wasn't bad enough that he was being rebellious, he was also starting to be more secretive. He no longer talked as much (not that any of them missed it, most of his ramblings were about Targaryen supremacy or something along those lines), and he was always watching them, gauging their actions and reactions. He spent most of his time in his room, too.

Arthur had been meaning to speak with him about it, or look into it. Or just do something. But he never really found a good time to do it. When he wasn't on duty, or running errands, or mapping the city with Bethany, Viserys was always in his way. Speaking, helping, hiding, just always doing something that inconvenienced Arthur's plans. Like he knew what Arthur was trying to do.

There was no use dwelling on that now, though. They needed to leave the city, and he would speak with Viserys about it when they had time. For now, they needed to focus on getting away in one piece. They had no idea how many pursuers they had, or where they were. They had no way of knowing what kind of danger they were in, and Arthur prayed they would not have to find out.

 

* * *

 

_Did I really expect any different? When have the gods ever looked upon our group in favor? They send challenge after challenge, threat after threat, and for what? To kill us? Break us? Do they want us to prove ourselves, prove that we can make it through things that would kill most men? Or do they just take pleasure in our suffering?_

_Do the gods hate Targaryens? Is that why all this misery has been thrust upon us? Aerys? Rhaegar? Viserys? Have the gods cursed them all to be mad? Will they do that to the children too? Curse them to be like their fathers?_

_Maybe these gods do not care. Maybe Ned Stark was right, and we should have given him the children when we still could. Bethany's old gods have granted her some luck in her life. And right now, we need something like that to get us through this._

 

* * *

 

Gerold was sitting at one of the tables in the tavern, sipping slowly at his drink. His eyes drifted over them briefly, and he gave a tiny nod. Setting down a gold coin, he stood up from his chair and crossed the room to them. "Are we ready?"

"We are. We should take turns carrying Oswell, so none of us become exhausted and we can be ready to fight at a moment's notice." Bethany's reasoning was sound, strategical. The older man hummed his agreement, looking over her shoulder to where Arthur supported Oswell.

Jon and Daenerys were taking turns carrying his bag. They'd complained about not getting anything to do, and it had ground on Arthur's nerves so much that he'd all but thrown the bag at the duo. They had excitedly picked it up, and Jon took the first turn. Now, Arthur felt a little bad for snapping at them and getting angry, but neither seemed to mind. They appeared happy to have something to do.

"Good. Come on. I want to get there as soon as we can. The ship will be leaving soon, and unless something happens, we should make it before it casts off." Arthur hated having such a narrow window of opportunity, but there was no argument he could make with Gerold that would change the circumstances. Either they left now and made it, or they didn't. Simple as that.

They left the tavern, their temporary safe haven, and began making their way through the crowds. The dull grey of the sky was a heavy cloud over most people's heads, and many of them were irritable. Arthur accidentally bumped into another man, and was snapped at in a language he didn't understand. He didn't really see what was making people down. Spending most of his life in Dorne, King's Landing, and the Free Cities had created an appreciation for the moments of reprieve from the sun. Most of the others agreed, although both Viserys and Daenerys seemed a little put out by it. 

 _Viserys hates everything. And little Daenerys hasn't liked rain ever since her brother told her of their mother's death._ Viserys' simple explanation of "You killed her during the storm" had affected the way Dany thought of things. She associated childbirth, and rain, and storms with death, now. Bethany had been trying to break her of that idea, and they'd been making some progress together. Arthur hated seeing the young girl cry during storms, not because of the actual storm, but because all she could think about was her mother.

 _When she's older,_ Arthur promised himself,  _I'll tell her all about her mother, and how she had loved Daenerys even if she'd never met her. And especially how it was her mother who called her Stormborn._ A name which they had yet to tell Dany about, considering her current emotional state towards storms.

Suddenly, Arthur was broken from his thoughts by a hand tugging his arm. He looked down at the frightened face of Daenerys. His immediate assumption was that she was about to have a fit over the rain. Before he could say anything, she said in a panicked voice, "I saw something."

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?" They had not stopped walking, and Arthur had given Oswell up to Bethany a few minutes past. This allowed him to lift up Daenerys, who was rather small for a child of ten namedays, and comfort her.

"I mean, I saw someone. I think they were like the men from before. He was watching me when I saw him. And he had a sword, too." She let it all out quickly, and Arthur almost didn't catch it. When he realized what she was telling him, his heart nearly stopped beating, and he almost tripped over his own feet.

 _No, no no. How did they find us? We lost them, we killed anyone that could have seen us. How?_ Straightening up, he set Dany back on the ground, though he did not let go of her hand. He ordered Jon to take her other hand. Softly, he called out to the others, "We're being followed."

A wave of pride washed over him when no one stopped, or whipped around, or did anything. They all continued on as if they hadn't heard, with the exception of Viserys, whose hands were shaking slightly. Other than that, there was nothing to indicate they knew anything.

"Are they the same men?" Bethany said back.

"Daenerys believes so. She saw them, not I. But I trust her, and I know she's telling the truth. She wouldn't jump at shadows."

"Gerold, I'm going to give you Oswell." Bethany's voice gave no room for argument. "As I do, I'm going to turn around to check on the children. I'll look behind us, and see how many there are, and how close they are."

She slowed her pace down slightly, and Gerold walked closer to her side. Carefully, she passed Oswell over to the other. Arthur held Dany's hand firmly, and made sure she was doing the same with Jon. He left his other hand free, for easy access to his sword. If they were lucky, they would be able to avoid confrontation. But he didn't want to take any chances.

As Oswell was passed over to Gerold, Bethany turned to smile at the children. She did look like she was checking on them, like a caring mother or aunt, and even asked them questions about how they were doing. Even if they didn't understand completely what they needed to do, the children answered her questions, and gave Bethany a reason to continue to look back.

In the middle of asking a question, her eyes flicked up over their heads. She shifted her gaze, and something terrible must have caught her eye. She stumbled over her words, her eyes widening in panic. She looked just as scared as Daenerys had been.

Quickly, she turned back around, moving even quicker than before. The others hurried to keep pace, though it was hard what with Oswell, the children, and their bags weighing them down slightly.

"Bethany?" said Arthur worriedly. This wasn't like her, to panic over something. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, because if Bethany was this afraid, what she saw couldn't have been anything close to good.

Barely turning her head to speak, she answered, "It's not the same men. Gods, there were ten at least." Just those few words had them all feeling her panic. The numbers were not frightening, even if it would likely be only him and Bethany who would fight; the first thing she had said was that they were not the men from before. Who else would attack them on the same day?

As though sensing his question, Bethany looked over at Arthur. And she said, her voice nearly a whisper, "Arthur, by the old gods, they're Dornish. The men following us are Dornish."

Fear like ice struck Arthur.  _It can't be. I-I don't believe it. Doran wouldn't do this, he wouldn't. And Oberyn . . . whatever his hatred for Lyanna and Rhaegar and Jon, he wouldn't betray us - betray **me** \- like this. He wouldn't. Would he? _

But the more he thought about it, the more it became more sensible, much to his dawning horror.  _Oberyn was my friend, but after Lyanna, and Elia . . . gods, he was never the same. He wasn't the same, his heart was ruled by a lust for revenge. How have I been so stupid? And the pact! The fucking snake! He wants Jon dead, that's why he didn't agree to marrying Arianne to him! They want to crown Viserys the King of the Seven Kingdoms._

_And Doran. He would have questioned his brother's decision long ago, or ours, if he wasn't in on it. All this time, we thought Dorne our allies. And now they've come to stab us in the back!_

And then, all his fear turned to anger. Hatred. These men that he had considered his friends, his  _brothers,_ had betrayed him. They would take his life, and everything he cared about away from him. He thought of Rhaenys, and how she'd been stabbed a hundred times, red blood soaking into the red Lannister cloaks; Aegon, who had been but an infant and whose head had been dashed against a wall, nothing left to recognize him; and Elia, brave, sweet, loyal Elia, who had helped Lyanna when she needed it, had helped them, and had been raped by a Lannister abomination.

He imagined Daenerys and Jon in their places, murdered by monsters, with no one to protect them. Murdered for what their parents had done, for their family name. For being born. He could see Daenerys, her loving eyes dead and pale, throat wide and gaping, slit open. He could see Jon, with the Stag's warhammer buried in his stomach, eyes screaming pain and filling with tears and fear. And he could see Lyanna, his beautiful Lyanna, wild and free, whose face shifted into Bethany's. And she laid on the cold stone floors of the throne room, lifeless, in a pool of her own blood.

Arthur couldn't, wouldn't see another one he loved die before him. He would not. Even if it killed him.

And so he growled, "Run. Go!" He let go of Dany's hand, pushing her ahead of him despite her plea of him not to let go. He turned, and he could see them now. They hid their identities well, but he could see the features that gave them away. He had grown up in Dorne, after all, and knew a Dornishman when he saw one. Bethany was right, there were about ten. They walked in groups, dressed differently, distanced away from each other. They saw him, and some smiled, while some looked regretful. It did not matter what they felt, though; he would not allow them to get to the others.

He reached for Dawn, ready to draw it and fight, when someone grabbed hold of his wrist. He tried to pull his hand away, but to no avail. Snarling, he twisted around, expecting to be met with another assassin, or someone trying to stop a fight from happening. Instead, he found himself facing Gerold, Oswell standing shakily behind him, but standing. Both had their swords drawn, and determined expressions lighting their faces.

"Arthur," Gerold stated calmly, like nothing was happening, like there weren't nearly a dozen men coming to kill them. "Take Bethany and the children. Get to that ship. And get as far away as you can. Tell the captain he needs to leave. Make him leave if you must, I don't care. Just get away from here."

Gaping, Arthur began, "Gerold, you can't-"

"I can.  And I will." He smiled grimly at Arthur. "I'm an old man. My time has come. I would only have  dragged you all down with time."

"Oswell-" he tried to say.

"Arthur, my leg is not going to heal. Even if we got away and found a healer, I would never be able to walk properly again. Nor would I be of any use. It's better this way," Oswell told him, voice tight with pain.

"No. Gerold, Oswell, no. We can make it, we can. Just come now, we can . . ." But even as he said it, he knew that it was not true. Their would-be killers were almost upon them, and he could see Bethany waiting with the children not far off. Gerold was a fierce fighter, and so was Oswell, even with his leg. They could hold off the Dornish and give him and the others time to escape. He knew they were right, but he didn't like it.

No, he  _hated_ it.  _Hated_ that they were about to lose two more. Two more of his friends were about to die for them.

His vision blurred, and he realized he was crying. "I'm-I'm sorry," he chocked out. The other two nodded, pushing him away and to Bethany. Even after they had stopped pushing him, he walked, never taking his eyes away from the two men that were going to die.

A hand gripped his elbow, soft and reassuring, pulling him along. He followed blindly, unable to tear his gaze away. Gerold and Oswell had taken defensive stands, swords held out before them. The assassins were closing in, almost upon them. A tear fell down Arthur's cheek, but he hardly noticed.

Only when their swords met, when the enemy had descended upon his friends, did he look away.

When they were almost to the ship, they were forced to stop. Two of the men from before were right on their tails, but they appeared to be the only ones left. Which meant Gerold and Oswell were well and truly dead. 

Arthur unsheathed Dawn, ignoring Bethany's calls and the children's cries as he charged them. His body fought, but his mind wandered away, empty. Two men died at his feet, one stabbed through the heart, the other with a slit throat, and Arthur hardly noticed. **  
**

He didn't feel as the others dragged him along. He didn't see when they finally reached the ship that would take them away from this place. He didn't notice when they left the port, sailing away to Pentos for another temporary reprieve.

He felt numb. They'd lost two more, and there was nothing he could have done to stop it.  

 

* * *

 

The youngest children sought comfort from the two adults present after a while. Dany went to Bethany, and Arthur could hear the young girl sobbing, and Bethany murmuring words of comfort. Jon took longer to come. So long, that Arthur assumed either he had gone to the others, or he didn't want to be comforted at all.

It was while he was sleeping, the ship rocking steadily around him, that Jon entered his cabin. Small hands prodded and poked at his chest, and eventually he became aware of a child's voice calling out to him.

"Arthur? Arthur, wake up. Please, please. Wake up. Arthur!" Jon whispered, but his voice was scratchy, broken, and just the slightest bit panicked. Opening his eyes slowly, Arthur was confronted with the sight of the crying ten year old King of Westeros, whose sad eyes widened first with surprise, and then again with sadness.

"Jon, my boy. Come here. Shh, shh. It's alright." He spoke softly, caressing Jon's back as he picked the boy up and set him in his lap. Jon hugged him, arms wrapped around his body tightly, as if he never wanted to let go. "I'm here, I'm right here. You're safe."

The boy continued to cry into his shoulder. Sobs racked his body, his shoulders shaking. Occasionally, when Arthur would pull the boy back to wipe Jon's face with his sleeve, he would find a red face, puffy eyes, and tear tracks. Jon's lip wobbled when he did this, and he would watch Arthur, never once breaking his gaze. Jon was scared and traumatized by the losses. There was no way around it.

After a long time, Jon finally found his voice. "Gerold and-and Oswell . . ." He trailed off, and Arthur could hear, not hesitance, but an abundance of emotion. "It's because of me, isn't it? Arthur, it's my fault that Gerold and Oswell were killed. That we had to leave. That we've been running for as long as I can remember."

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that this boy was Rhaegar's son, for all of Lyanna's looks and the bond he shared with Arthur. No one could ever doubt that the boy was as intelligent as the man whose seed he had come from.

"I-I-" And this was of course when Arthur had the most difficulty. Jon had only seen ten years, how was he supposed to just confirm the child's fears that he was the cause for so much death and destruction? And in this moment of vulnerability? What was he supposed to say?

Jon spoke for him. "It is, isn't it? All that Viserys always told me, of the war, of my father and mother. It has always been my fault." There was a weight behind his words, and suddenly, Jon seemed so much older to Arthur now. It was like he had the soul of someone so much older, with so much more experience in pain and death and life. It was like seeing a reflection of Rhaegar in a child.

Sighing deeply, Arthur decided that there was no use denying the boy the truth anymore. They had told Jon over the years some of the circumstances of his birth, but not much, and not in great detail. "Yes," he answered honestly. Jon nodded, as though Arthur had just confirmed all his fears. Which, Arthur supposed, he just had.

"Why?"

And, of course, if Jon was anything like Rhaegar, he would be curious for more. He'd want to know the whole truth, and everything connected to it, not just part. Arthur had never intended to tell Jon all, not like this. He'd wanted to do it when Jon was older, knew more, probably when he was four-and-ten, or six-and-ten. Not ten. And certainly not after they'd just lost two of the men who had been with them since the very beginning, when they were all still grieving. But looking into Jon's eyes was like reading a warning. Arthur got the feeling that if he didn't tell Jon now, it would only do more harm than good.

"Well, that is a long story indeed, Jon. Are you sure you want to hear it all now?"

Before he'd even finished, Jon was nodding. "Yes. Please, Arthur, tell me."

"Then I guess we would have to start from the very beginning. With your great-great grandfather, King Jaehaerys II. A woods witch had told him that the prophesied prince that was Promised would come from the Targaryen line. King Jaehaerys forced his children, Aerys and Rhaella, to marry each other. After his father died, Aerys became king when he was barely older than Viserys. At first, he appeared to be a good king. But after Rhaella's many stillbirths and miscarriages, and after being held prisoner for almost a year by a rebellious lord, King Aerys began to descend into madness.

"The first child he and Rhaella had was your father, Rhaegar. Just like with Aerys, Rhaegar showed great promise as a future king of the Seven Kingdoms. Even more than Aerys. The people loved him, and he did his duty as Prince of the Seven Kingdoms." Arthur watched Jon carefully as they began to speak of his father. Jon's expression resembled stone, and there were no cracks for Arthur to see through. "He married the Princess of Dorne, Elia Martell. She gave him two children, your half-sister and brother, Rhaenys and Aegon."

"My brother and sister," Jon repeated, his voice dull and empty. Arthur waited for the boy to say more, but when Jon did not open his mouth again, he continued.

"Elia nearly died bringing Aegon into the world. After your brother's birth, the maesters told your father that because Elia was so sickly, she could not survive another childbirth. Unfortunately, your father had a spark of madness in himself as well. I remember what he was like after Aegon was born. Always irritated, hardly sleeping. Angry, upset. Ranting, raving." He could see Rhaegar in his mind's eyes, could see his friend pacing in his chambers, talking to himself. His hair and clothes were always messy and out of order. That was when Arthur first began to realize the depths of Rhaegar's madness.

"It was at the Tourney of Harranhal that your father met your mother. The moment he laid his eyes on your mother, it was obvious to those who knew him that Rhaegar was . . . intrigued. Many thought it was infatuation, love. But I knew Rhaegar. There was a time that I called him my friend and brother. To me, it was clear as day that he did not love the Lady Lyanna. He was only obsessed with her, and what she might give him.

"Now, you see, your mother was already betrothed to your uncle Ned's dearest friend, Robert Baratheon, the Lord of Storm's End."

"The Stag," Jon interrupted.

"The Stag," Arthur agreed. "The Stag thought he loved your mother. He was like Rhaegar in that way. He only saw what he imagined, a loving, loyal, dutiful wife. A wife that would listen to his every command, do as he told, and be a beauty." With a humorless chuckle, he said, "Your mother was anything but a proper lady. She hated that women were thought of as items, were traded like one might trade cattle. She wanted to be a knight, to journey across the Seven Kingdoms, to wield a sword and be free."

Arthur's emotions threatened to overcome him as he spoke of Lyanna. It was becoming more and more difficult to speak as he fought to hold back. He cleared his throat to continue. "She did not love the Stag, but there was nothing she could do about her betrothal besides protest vehemently. Which is why it was so easy for her to fall prey to Rhaegar's charm.

"He won the Tourney, and passed by his own wife to crown your mother the Queen of Love and Beauty. It was from that moment on that your father was able to trick your mother into believing he could give her freedom, even making her believe she loved him. However, Lyanna was smart, and she began to doubt, especially the more your father spoke of the daughter he wanted, and his prophecy. Lyanna ended what was between them, and shortly thereafter, left for Winterfell with her brothers."

"But I was still born."

"Yes, Jon. Rhaegar did not give up, not after her refusal. About a year after the tourney, your father brought myself, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell, and removed Lyanna by force from Winterfell. We brought her to the Tower of Joy in Dorne, where your mother stayed for the entirety of the war, and until her death."

Once again, Jon interrupted him. "But wasn't my father's wife from Dorne? Wasn't Princess Elia angry?"

"I think Elia was more angry that Rhaegar had this power, that they were married, more than anything. My sister, Ashara, had been Elia's dearest friend. She was one of Elia's handmaidens, and so she told me everything. Elia had accepted the unfortunate circumstances they were part of, and did all she could to help your mother. She was a friend to Lyanna, even if they had only ever met at the tourney. She kept Dorne at bay, allowed us to bring Lyanna to the Tower. Elia was a good woman, and would have made one of the greatest Queens our country would have ever seen.

"She understood what it was to be married to Rhaegar. Your father felt he was entitled to two wives, like the Targaryen Kings before him, and so he married your mother. Thus, you became a legitimate heir.

"The war began, and your father left. He died at the Battle of the Trident, killed by the Stag. King Aerys was killed by Jaime Lannister, Lord Tywin Lannister's eldest son, and a member of the Kingsguard. Your sister was stabbed to death. Your brother's head bashed against a wall. Elia was raped and murdered by Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides." He grew bitter and angry, wishing that the man would die in a most painful way, and rot in all seven hells.

"And so you became the heir to the Iron Throne. Your mother . . . there were complications with your birth, and Lyanna bled out. I was with her, in her last moments. She was the one that named you, and she made me promise that I take care of you." Jon's eyes were watering, and a tear escaped. Arthur brushed it away, and kissed the child's forehead. He avoided speaking of the exact circumstances Jon had been created under, knowing that no matter how intelligent the boy was, it would hurt him to learn he was born of his mother's rape. "We all knew what we were getting ourselves into when we swore to uphold our vows and protect you, as our king. We all accepted, knowing we may one day die fighting for you. I can tell you, Jon, that Gerold and Oswell could not have wished to die in any other way. They gave their lives for you, and if they were alive, they still would. This isn't your fault. All of this happened because of Rhaegar. But I do not regret your birth. That is the only happiness that came out of the war."

Jon did not say anything for a while, instead staring down at his hands, as though he could see the blood that was spilled for the sake of his birth. It was a great weight for child, a burden and a curse, but Arthur knew no one could handle it better than Jon.

Arthur was surprised when Jon whispered resentfully, "That man . . . Rhaegar Targaryen is not my father."

Confused and surprised, Arthur began to say, "Now Jon, I know that you wish things were different, but I was there. Rhaegar was-is your father-"

"That man is not my father," Jon said, lifting his head to look directly into Arthur's eyes, "because you are. I don't care that I came from his seed. He did not love me, I know that, and he did not love my mother. Not like you. You are the one that has raised me, that is still with me, not him. You are the one I wish to call Father, and not Rhaegar Targaryen."

For a moment, Arthur could not find any words to say. He was fighting back tears, because there had been so many days, so many nights, when he had wished that Jon was his, that he cursed his vows and Rhaegar and wished that he had been Lyanna's husband and the father of her child. Maybe Rhaegar was Jon's father, but Jon had always been Arthur's son, and now he knew that he would always be the man that Jon saw as his father.

"And you are my son," he answered, voice hoarse with unshed tears. He pulled Jon into a tight hug, holding him close to him. Jon held onto him as well, burying his head into Arthur's shoulder. "I loved your mother, and I love you."

Quietly, but surely, Arthur could hear Jon reply, "I love you, too, Father."

 

* * *

 

The talk with Jon, their bonding, all reminded Arthur that Viserys had a father, but one who was mad, and who had been dead for years now. The more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt for the way they had treated Viserys. They'd put off the older boy, ignored him in favor of his sister and nephew, and left him to practically raise himself. If anything, they were to blame for his current attitude toward everything.

And that was when Arthur decided that, even though it was probably too late to do anything about Viserys, he could at least apologize for how he had grown up. It wasn't his fault that he was born the second son of Aerys and Rhaella, and that Rhaegar had given two boys to the world, instead of just one daughter. Arthur wasn't looking for forgiveness, but he was going to fix it as much as he could.

In the morning, Arthur took his time waking up. He'd decided to wait until a little after midday to speak with Viserys. He'd run over every scenario in his head, and out of all that he had come up with, only one involved Viserys forgiving him. And he could accept that.

While he had devoted his time to being a father figure to Jon and Daenerys (or in Jon's case, a father), he had all but forgotten that Viserys was just a boy, and that he had lost family too. He knew he had made mistakes, had probably ruined Viserys's life. And he was sorry.

Dany left Bethany's cabin looking better than the day before. She was happier, less weighed down by the sadness that had consumed them all with Gerold and Oswell's deaths. It was good to see that she had improved, although the apprehension of being on a ship was still there. But in that too, she had made progress.

He gave her a tight hug, picking her off the ground and whirling her around. She squealed as if she was still five and not ten. It was a good sound to hear, and one that Arthur's heart delighted in hearing. It reminded him how much he thought of Jon and Dany as his own children.  _This must be what it feels like to be a father. To hold your daughter in your arms, and know that she loves you, and that you love her._

Eventually he set her back down, and she ran off to play with Jon. Bethany emerged from below, and was almost knocked down by the blur that was Daenerys. She grinned, and looked at him in something akin to wonder. "Did you do that?" she asked him, walking over to stand beside him. He stood against the railing, looking out over the sea. Bethany leaned back against it, watching him intently.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I might have had something to do with it." Bethany raised an eyebrow at his statement.

Sighing, she said, "It's been awhile since I've seen her so happy as that. Especially with . . ." she trailed off, unwilling to open fresh wounds. Arthur nodded to show that he understood what she wouldn't say. He didn't like to speak of it either. None of them had actually said their names since the day they died. And none of them really wanted to. Not yet, at least.

One day, though.

"It's a good thing. She's the only one," Bethany said happily, "that can make Jon really look like that, too. And it's nice to see Jon break out of his somber moods now and then." Arthur's thoughts went to the conversation he'd had with Jon the night before, and he wanted to talk to her about it, share it with someone that might understand.

"Last night," he began slowly, and Bethany gazed at him, silently prompting him to continue, "Jon came to speak with me, as I'm sure Daenerys did with you." She gave him a nod of affirmation. "He asked me about the rebellion, about his fa- about Rhaegar." After the night before, after what Jon had said, he couldn't even bring himself to think of Rhaegar as the boy's father. Not anymore.

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him everything. The boy is more intelligent than anyone gives him credit for. By the end of it, he claimed vehemently that Rhaegar wasn't his father and that . . . that I was." Suddenly, he was nervous of what Bethany would think. He'd thought he'd taught himself long ago that it didn't matter what people thought about him and his opinions, but Bethany's did. He wanted her approval, like Jon wanted his.

Bethany beamed at him. "He's right. Rhaegar has been dead since before he was born. He has never known anything but you. Yes, there was . . . them, and there was Ned Stark. But you have always been there for him, to care and teach him." Laughing lightly, she told him, "I'd be shocked if he didn't think of you in that way."

Their conversation descended into silence, smiles still present but fading. The sky was still fairly gray, although the clouds appeared to be clearing. The sea sloshed at the ship, small waves rippling all across the surface. It continued until the horizon, where the shimmering blue met light gray.

Several moments passed before either spoke again, enjoying the peace of the moment. Arthur took a deep breath before he said anything. "I'm going to talk to Viserys."

Bethany regarded him in confusion, but motioned for him to continue. "I've realized since last night that, while I have been a better father than I could have hoped to be to Jon and Daenerys, I've done no such thing for Viserys. I've ignored him, shoved him away. I want to apologize to him."

"Arthur, I don't think he'll-"

"I know, Bethany. I know. And I'm not expecting him to accept me, or forgive me. I don't think I want him to, either. I just need to do this." Bethany only nodded in agreement, and Arthur had assumed as much. She clapped him on the back, and then left him to his own thoughts, probably going to make sure Jon and Dany didn't get into  _too_  much trouble. He chuckled softly at the thought.

After thinking over what he was going to say for a while, Arthur stepped away from the rail, looking once more out across the sea. Then he crossed the deck and opened the door that led to the cabins. He let it shut close behind him, following the hallway until he reached the room Viserys had been given. He reached up with one hand and knocked gently on the door.

He waited. After a minute with no reply, he knocked a second time. Again, no answer. Frowning slightly, he pushed open the door to see if Viserys had just decided to ignore anyone that had decided to come see him.

He found Viserys lying on his bed, deep asleep. He slept on his belly, head pillowed on one forearm. His legs were stretched wildly across the bed, one falling off the bed and the other laying at an uncomfortable looking angle. The blanket was a mess at his feet. He was snoring quietly, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Arthur couldn't help himself, he smiled.

Walking over to the bed, he brushed the boy's hair out of his face.  _Later. I will speak to him later._ He grabbed the blanket, and gently pulled it over Visers's sleeping form. Satisfied, he turned to leave.

And that's when he noticed it.

Clutched tightly in the boy's hand (the one he was not resting on) was a parchment. Not large enough to be anything educational, but not small enough to be a letter from someone like the Spider.

Arthur, confused as to what Viserys could possibly have, took hold of his hand and uncurled his hand off of the parchment. Viserys' hand immediately curled again, as if he still had a hold on it.

As quietly as he could, Arthur opened up the parchment, which had been crumpled in Viserys grasp. Needless to say, he was frozen with shock as he read over what he had found.

> **_Doran,_ **

> **_You and your brother's plan has failed! What, did you really think that you could really have ten Dornishmen sneak up on Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and Oswell Whent?? That Northern bastard? You're a fool. Now two of my Kingsguard are dead and my idiotic nephew is still alive!_ **

> **_I hope that next time you won't encounter such problems. I can only assume your foolishness is a result of your love for your sister. I don't care what you think Elia would have wanted! If you want your daughter to be Queen and for you and your brother to have your revenge, then you should think of a better plan than openly challenging the Kingsguard!_ **

> **_We're going to Qohor next. I expect you to have a better plan and to be more prepared. I will have my throne, and as long as my nephew lives, I have no claim to it._ **

> **_King Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._ **

It took Arthur several moments to register what he was reading. Viserys had . . . betrayed them? He'd been the one that had ordered the Dornish to come?

And of course, it all made sense.  _It wasn't Doran's idea, nor Oberyn's. Viserys had been planning this all along! I should have seen it. Of course the madness would only worsen his jealousy. By the gods, we've been fools this whole time, protecting the enemy and keeping it right beside us._

Carefully, he placed the parchment - the  _evidence_ \- back in the boy's hand. He all but stumbled out of the room, rushing back to the deck to get air. He felt ill, hardly able to fathom the fact the  _Gerold and Oswell had died protecting their murderer._

And then he was angry. He wanted to hit something, to kill something. He wanted to hit Viserys, kill that fucking traitor. All this time, they had believed him to be one of them. Lives had been lost protecting him. And for what? For him to betray them and seize the throne?

_No, I cannot allow Viserys to do this. I **will not**  allow him to do this. When we reach Pentos, I will make sure he cannot harm us ever again._

 

* * *

 

It took days to reach Pentos. The clouds departed sometimes around the fourth day at sea. The sun shone brightly, though the heat could be a bit much. The others were in good moods, which only improved upon their arrival at Pentos.

Arthur refrained from telling them of Viserys' treachery.

There was enough grief already to last them a life time, they didn't need to know just yet that they had been betrayed by one of their own. Though Arthur longed to speak with Bethany about it, or even to run Viserys through with Dawn, he kept his silence.

Bethany seemed to know that something was bothering him, something big that he wasn't sharing. She had asked him of it a few times, and every time he told her that he would share it when he was ready. And by ready, he meant after he had killed Viserys. Bethany trusted him enough to leave it at that, although she still threw worried glances his way every now and then.

It was hard, really, to not crack and confess all that he knew to her. She was like Lyanna in that way, able to see right through him and understand him as if they'd know each other for years. And she was trustworthy, to the point where he felt he could tell her of every aspect of his soul, and she would hold onto it tightly, protect his secrets. She'd done it once before.

But he prided himself in his ability to keep quiet, keep the secret that had the potential to rip what little remained of their group apart. The younger two were unaware, though if they noticed that Arthur was secluding himself and did not speak or play with them as much, they said nothing.

They reached the docks at nightfall, the moon shining bright and full above them. Lanterns and torches lit up the walkways, a guidance through the dark streets. As they left the ship quietly, with the help of the captain and some of his crew, Arthur knew that the time was near.

A little voice deep inside his head, the last couple of hours, had flared to life. It protested against killing Viserys, saying he would be just as much of a monster as Viserys if he did this. It was beginning to drive him mad.

They slipped through the streets carefully, following the captain's directions to a place they could hide and rest for a day or so. Arthur had been careful, making sure that only he and Bethany knew about where they were going. And when he had requested she not tell the children, she had agreed without argument.

The trust she placed upon him was surprising, but well-received.

They were turning another corner, halfway through their journey, when Arthur stopped.  _It is now or never,_ he thought to himself. The others stopped as well, confused by his actions. He hurried over to Bethany and whispered in her ear, "Take Jon and Dany. Find the place where we can hide. I promise I will explain everything later. Please, trust me on this and go."

Reluctantly, she nodded, and grabbing the hands of the two children, began walking away. When Viserys made to follow, Arthur put a hand on his chest to stop him. "No," he said, trying to keep the rage he felt out of his voice.

He waited until Bethany and the two children disappeared again, before speaking. "Come with me. You and I need to talk." He didn't bother hiding the dark tone of his voice. Viserys followed, looking nervous, but listening all the same.

 

* * *

 

**_After_ **

 

The fear was back, the tears falling freely. His limbs shook, and he tried frantically to push Arthur away. He managed a few sounds, some pleas for his life. "If it's any consolation," Arthur told him softly, "I'm sorry."

"No!" Viserys sobbed, eyes closing, tremors running through his body as he cried. Arthur took a step away from him, knowing the boy was in too much fear to move. He reached behind his back, hand moving in the direction of his sword, moving forth to grab hold of what he carried on his back-

(The boy's crying echoed in the dark, empty streets, not a soul left to hear his frightened noises.)

-and throwing a bag down before the feet of the boy. The almost-screams continued for a minute, stopping when Viserys finally realized that there was no blow to come. His terrified, violet gaze fell to what was on the ground just in front of him. Confusion, mixed with fear and apprehension, crossed over his elegant, Valyrian features. He reached down to touch the bag, his silver-blonde hair falling just slightly into his face, his eyes.

In the darkness, Arthur Dayne realized that Viserys Targaryen could easily pass for Rhaegar. He felt an unexpected pang in his chest, but chose to ignore it.

"This my final act of kindness I do for you, Viserys. In this bag, you will find clothes, food, and gold." Stepping into the boy's -  _man, he must be a man now, if he is to survive_  - space. Gripping his tunic tightly, he hauled Viserys to his feet, looking him straight in the eye. "You will take this. You will leave this city. You will never return. And you will never, ever, for all eternity, return to us. Do you understand?"

His voice was deceptively soft, calm. Yet, even to him, it seemed all the more deadly, dangerous, than any yells, screams, or growls he could have produced. Viserys nodded frantically, and Arthur doubted he even knew what he was agreeing to. Arthur gave a nod of acknowledgment, before pushing Viserys away from him.

"Good. Now get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I will kill you. Go."

He turned, walking away and back to go where the others would be waiting for him to return, to the others to whom he would give an excuse about Viserys falling and hitting his head, or drowning in the water. Bethany would see right through his lie, but the children would believe it for now.

He turned and walked away, away from the boy, the boy he forced to become a man. _No, he has been a man for a long time. But I never paid enough attention to see it happen._ The man he may very well have just sentenced to death. The man whose father, and brother, and nephew Arthur had and did serve. The man who he had never served, and never would. The man by the name of Viserys Targaryen, Prince to the Seven Kingdoms, who would likely never see his home country again.

He turned, never once looking back.

 

* * *

 

With his back turned, Arthur Dayne, the Sword in the Morning, failed to see the gleam of madness, but also anger. Anger which promised vengeance for his second exile, for the pain that he had endured and the crown that had been stolen from him.

Anger which promised payment be brought down for all that had been done to him, in fire and blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can think of this as an end to "Act I" or a "season finale," whatever you want. Basically, this is pretty much the conclusion of the childhood part of the story. The next chapter should take place in King's Landing, if not, then somewhere else in Westeros. If I go by what I have planned, we probably won't be seeing Arthur and Co. for a couple chapters. There's a lot to be explored in Westeros: King's Landing, the North, Dorne (you know, with the whole plot to kill Jon being revealed, there's gonna be some backlash), the Iron Islands (hopefully, yes, as there are some important things happening there), the Wall, and so on and so forth. Not sure how long it'll be before the next chapter is up, but I can guarantee it will be within a month or so.
> 
> This chapter has actually been a pain in the butt for some time. In fact, it was supposed to be a part of LAST CHAPTER. Except, it got really long, so I was decided to split it in the hopes that I could make the second part not so long. But then I lost control, and now you've got this really long chapter before you. Not intentional, but hey, at least it's finished.
> 
> Until next time. Feel free to leave suggestions (if you truly wish) of POV's I could write from and such. I have a pretty good plot planned out, but it's always nice to add some stuff to it.


	13. The Falcon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The girl was pregnant. Her belly was showing the signs, already beginning to swell, and from where he sat, there was no way to mistake it. The girl was pregnant, and with her father's demands, that could only mean one thing._
> 
> _"She carries King Robert's bastard?" It wasn't a question, not really. Of course the child was Robert's._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is necessary (I've never written anything like this before), but I'll add the warning.
> 
> Warning: One of the characters talks about where she was raped. If you think I need to have more of a warning about this or that this part is inaccurate in any way, then please let me know.

Jon Arryn rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache he'd had since early this morning. He and Lysa had argued  _again_ over her and their son leaving for the Vale. She claimed she didn't want to remain in King's Landing, wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Normally, he'd have no qualms about his wife's opinion. Theirs was a loveless marriage, and while he would usually rebuke her for such an outburst, he sometimes let it go.

But this time, no matter how much he did wish for her to return to the Vale, the journey was a bad idea. Their son, Robert, had seen only two namedays. And even if he had been older, the child was sickly. A journey like this one could easily result in the boy's death.

His relationship with his son was . . . distant. Being as old as he was, he could have been the boy's grandfather, or great grandfather. Besides that, Lysa always kept him secluded, as far away from his father as possible. Their child was the only one of all the miscarriages to survive, and she would guard him with her life.

It made Jon worry for his son's future. As his heir, the future Lord of the Vale, Robert needed to be strong, intelligent, good willed. He needed to have courage and kindness, needed to make just decisions and hard ones, too. As it was, Jon feared the boy would never know any of those things. Lysa hardly let any maids touch him, nearly refused every time someone suggested (or ordered, as Jon tended to do) her to let the child out of her chambers.

_I have a son, and yet it may be more logical to give my lordship to a cousin rather than my own child._

And now, King Robert had decided to leave the actual running of the kingdom to Jon yet again, while he left to go whoring and drinking. Jon doubted he would see Robert until later in the day, and that the man would be very drunk, if not remarkably hungover.

The man who stood before him, another one of the people who had come to lay their problems at the feet of the King, spoke of bandits that had attacked his village. A village so far north, the man may as well have gone to Lord Tully instead. The issue would surely have been dealt with sooner.

Waving his hand in a dismissal, he promised to have a group of soldiers sent out to take care of the matter. The man nodded, bowed his head, and left as fast as his feet could carry him.

On and on they came, voicing their problems and complaints. One farmer had come to whine of how the taxes in his village were too high. Jon had wanted to scoff. Since Robert had come to power, the notion of taxes had disappeared. Any taxes that were in place were much too low to bring any income to the crown, only serving towards Robert's own desires.

The banks had no gold. Every loan they received only increased the debt which they owed to numerous persons. The Iron Bank of Braavos included. And Robert did nothing. There was very little Jon could do, and what he managed to have done was wasted by Robert.

The once brave, noble, wise king now a fat, drunk fool that cared only for himself.

Jon's interest in these proceedings dwindled off as most of midday was used for these things. He considered leaving, calling off such a thing for the next day. But knowing how the Seven worked, the people would return with more than there had been the day before.

Still, the idea of putting an end to it was tempting.

Finally, the last of the petitioners entered the throne room. A man and a young woman. Hardly a woman, more of a girl. And the man had to have been her father, if the way he held tightly to her arm as he dragged her across the empty space was any way to judge. Jon sat up straighter, determined to have it all finished.

Just as he was about to speak, the father beat him to it.

"I want to see the King," the man said. Jon's eyebrows rose in surprise. The man's tone was rather demanding, for one in such a low position. One could even have the man arrested for such an attitude.

A guard stepped forward to do such a thing, but Jon stopped him. "The King is a very busy man, which is why I am here in his place. If you would please tell me what it is you would have him know-"

"And by busy, you mean sleeping with every woman in King's Landing," the man growled, eyes shining with anger. Jon was rather taken aback by such an expression. He had never seen a lowly man such as the one before him react this way.

Voice hard, face blank, Jon replied, "What King Robert does in his spare time is none of your concern."

"It is now. Here girl, show him." The man pushed his daughter forward. She tripped over her own feet, regaining her balance before she could fall to the ground. Hesitantly, she moved forward. Closer to Jon.

As she neared, Jon could make out the bruise on her cheek, the eyes that were red from crying. A large robe was wrapped around her shoulders, concealing what he assumed was a skinny body.

Before she could reach the bottom step to the throne, the two guards who stood there stopped her. She froze, fear written in every line of her face. "Go on," her father called from behind her.

The girl met Jon's eyes once, and then preferred keeping them to the ground. With shaking hands, she began to loosen the robe she wore. At first, Jon thought she intended to completely undress herself. He even opened his mouth to stop her when the robe fell to the ground.

Jon shut his mouth, understanding dawning on him. The feeling was quickly followed by resignation, because he knew why the father was so enraged, and why the daughter was afraid.

His assumption had been correct; the girl was skinny, although her skin was a fair color and her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders in waves.  _Like Lyanna's,_ Jon couldn't help but note.

The girl was pregnant. Her belly was showing the signs, already beginning to swell, and from where he sat, there was no way for Jon to mistake it. The girl was pregnant, and with her father's demands, that could only mean one thing.

"She carries King Robert's bastard?" It wasn't a question, not really. Jon already knew the answer. Of course the child was Robert's. The girl's looks were perhaps the most similar to Lyanna as Robert could find in King's Landing. A young, innocent girl, only just reaching womanhood. Probably the same age as Lyanna, too.

The irony made Jon feel sick. He wondered if the girl had been willing. The way her father acted, and the bruises on her face, showed that her family did not approve. Had Robert ordered her to? Had he raped her, as he would have Lyanna? (Jon was no fool; Lyanna and Robert were never meant to be, and forcing such a thing could only have ended with tragedy.)

"I want the King to take her in. The child is his, and so is the girl now. I want nothing to do with either of them." Jon hardly registered the man's words. He stared at the girl's face, at the fear and the hurt. She hadn't wanted this, and because of Robert, she had no choice.

Neither did Jon. He would not let such a young girl and her child, bastard or not, die. Her father would not take her in. If she was put out on the streets, her child would not have a life. She would likely become a whore, for what other position was there for her? Her baby would grow up in a brothel, either forced into such a lifestyle as well, or thrown out into the world on its own.

"We will take her in. Her child will be raised in the Red Keep, and she will be taken care of." The girl finally dared to raise her eyes. Disbelief, shock, uncertainty flashed across her face. Jon's heart clenched once again as he considered how little choice she had in this. She wasn't a whore, but Robert had all but made her one, and now she was paying for it.

His thoughts went to Mya Stone, the young girl with so much potential. Jon suspected she could have been a good lady, and, as he had many times before, wished that she had been born trueborn. Not the golden-haired children Cersei birthed.

This child would be like her. A bastard. Cursed to being looked down upon. All the things they could have been, taken away because of their father. They will wear a bastard name, branded as a baby Robert failed to put in his wife.

The Queen would be furious. Cersei had already done all she could to keep Robert's other bastards as far away and hidden as possible. One of his bastard's raised in the Red Keep? He would need to keep a careful eye on both mother and child.

 _Varys,_ he realized.  _I need Varys and his spies to watch over them. Who better to protect a secret than the Master of Whispers himself?_

 

* * *

 

It was Varys who came to Jon, in the end. There had been no time after he made his decision for the girl to look for the Spider. Even if he had looked, he doubted he would have found him at all. He was the Master of Whispers, and if Jon would have discovered where he was, then Varys wasn't doing his job (that or he wanted Jon to find him).

He had just finished speaking with the Master of Coin and was walking back to his chambers. He would visit Lysa and his child later, tomorrow probably, he decided. Before she could leave for the Vale again. There would be no heartfelt goodbye, no tears, but he wasn't going to just ignore them. They were family, whether he liked it or not.

Jon was rounding a corner when his name was called. Turning around in confusion, he saw Varys standing patiently at the end of the hall Jon had walked through. His hands were folded in his robes, and his feet had made no sound on the stone floor, as usual. Jon briskly made his way over to the other man, the sickly sweet perfume washing over him once he got close enough to smell it.

"Varys, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He greeted him. Pleasure was a strong word. Jon liked the Spider more than most, but like most others in King's Landing, there was some ulterior motive behind this man. He doubted anyone else could see, but Jon had been around a long time, and had spent many years in court. Varys wasn't one to reveal anything he didn't want anyone to know, and even then. Jon knew, though, that a man in a position such as Varys's had to have a plan, a desire, something.

Varys offered him one of his tight smiles as they began walking down another hall. "My Little Birds tell my that you wanted to see me. Something about a girl and Robert's bastard growing in her?" Right to the point, a strange thing for Varys. This was a man who delighted in knowing things others did not. He didn't usually share details like this.

"Yes. I've made the decision to take care of her. Here, in the Red Keep."

"A daring decision, my lord. And what was it that had you deciding to keep her here?"

"I . . . took pity upon her."

"Pity? A strange answer. Why didn't you take pity upon any of the others who carried Robert's bastards, who raise them even now? What made this one special, hmm?"

Jon considered his answer before speaking. Varys was right, as always. Why hadn't he taken pity upon the others? "It has never been so real as it is this time. I've only met one of Robert's bastards, Mya Stone. She never knew her mother, and neither did I. Robert had left her in the Eyrie. She has been there all her life. But this girl, she has not even given birth yet. She was not a whore, and yet Robert had her anyway. Her family gave her up. Was I supposed to leave her to the city, let her become a real whore and allow both of them to live such lives as those?"

Without Jon's notice, they had reached the gardens. It was empty, except for them. It was a few hours after midday, and the sun had lowered a bit. The heat had subsided, and the shade was much cooler now. It was a relief.

"Mya Stone, Robert's eldest bastard? Indeed, she has had a good lord like you to watch over her." He stopped, facing Jon with a calculating gaze. "You realize the implications this could have? Raising one of our king's bastards in the Red Keep?"

"Yes. Of course I do. I wouldn't if I didn't understand what the risks are," Jon answered with certainty.

Varys nodded, though he looked like he was indulging a small child in whatever story it had decided to tell. "I'm sure you have, Lord Arryn. However, I don't think you gave as much thought to how this could effect the King's lineage."

"I'm sorry? I don't think I grasp what you're implying Varys."

Shaking his head in disappointment, Varys turned to continue following the path through the gardens. He led Jon under some trees, in the shade, to a bench hidden in shadow and screened by bushes and branches. He took a seat on one end and when Jon hesitated, gestured that he take the seat beside him. "Too many ears," Varys told him. "It's tiring to keep track of them all."

Before Varys could say anything else, Jon spoke. "What did you mean? The King's lineage is intact, he has three children by his lady wife, and two of them are sons. Tell me what you meant," he demanded.

"Oh, so naive. Cersei has three children, and Robert has more than she could ever hope to birth, but as for the two of them having children together, I'm not so sure. Do you see how raising a bastard here could destroy the careful calm and collected lies no one knows exist?" Varys paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the gardens again.

Leaning in close, Varys continued to speak, his voice lowered. "A powerful House could use this against the King. It wouldn't be hard to see, the way the trueborn children resemble lions more than they do stags, the way all bastards resemble stags more than anything else. It could be cause for accusations, for trouble with the Lannisters, for war, even. And besides what other people might think, we could have another Blackfyre rebellion on our hands. Especially with the trueborn children perhaps not being trueborn at all. Cersei will not like this, and will take steps to prevent this child from growing." The last part seemed more for Varys than for Jon. But Jon still considered all that he had been told before something made him stop.

Jon blinked, shocked by what Varys's last words implied. "Are you saying that King Robert's trueborn children - Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen - are not his children?" he asked incredulously.

"That is for you to find out yourself, Lord Arryn." Varys stood from his seat. Jon hurriedly did the same, rising and following after the Spider, who had begun to walk away.

"Robert's children are not his own? I knew Cersei would hate having the child living in the Red Keep if she found out, but stop it from living? Varys, this is madness. Where is your proof?" Jon was frantically trying to keep up with what he was learning.  _If Robert is not her children's father, then who is? The bastards rising up against those children? Most of them don't even know they're Robert's children! Or, if what I have been told, Cersei's children rising up against Robert? Why would Varys tell me this?_

Jon slowed his steps until he had come to a complete stop. Varys, now a few feet away, also stopped, and looked back at Jon. He watched Varys uncertainly, the trust he had placed in this man destroyed, dust blown away on the wind. Gone. Varys should have had no reason to tell Jon this. If anything, the one who should be told is Robert. So why him? And why now, when all of Cersei's children had been born? Hesitating over his words, Jon asked, "Why? Why this? Why me?"

Varys smiled at him, a pitying look crossing his face. "I serve the realm, Lord Arryn, not a single king. I will do what is best for the realm, and if that is giving the Hand of the King a hint as to what really goes on in the Red Keep, then so be it. Robert is not a good king, we both know it. He was never meant to be. Maybe, many years before, he would have made a good ruler. But after Rhaegar and Lyanna and the rebellion, he has lost whatever it is that made him the king the realm needed. If we are to keep realms from collapsing on themselves, then someone fit to be king needs to be ready to take his place."

"But why me?" he asked the Spider angrily. None of it made sense, it was all so confusing. Was that all this was about, Robert's heir? Or was there something more going on?

"Because, Lord Arryn, you are an exceptional man. You have practically ruled this kingdom while Robert has only done what it is he wants, when he wants it. You would be better suited to making this decision than Robert or anyone else would." Varys turned to walk away, but halted, and said something more. "For what it's worth, Lord Arryn, be careful. As I said, there are too many ears, and not just in the gardens. Everywhere. There are eyes, too. No one must know what you are doing. So take caution in how you go about things. Goodbye, Lord Arryn."

That being said, Jon was left alone in the gardens. The sun had sunk lower, meeting the horizon. The walls towering over the gardens cast eerie shadows. Some rays of sunlight had found the gardens, still. The whole area was a strange mixture of darkness and light, sun and shadow. Jon did not feel any differently inside.

Slowly, mind continuing to race with this newly found knowledge, he started to make his way back to where he had come from. He didn't remember much of his journey, too concentrated was he on deciphering all that he had been told. He had no idea what he could possibly use this knowledge for, or why.

 _Except you do,_ he realized.  _If Varys believes Cersei's children are not Robert's, then I must find proof. There has to be something I can do to prove this. Once I do, surely their marriage will be annulled, the children named bastards. The way Varys spoke about a successor, he must have someone in mind to take the crown and throne once Robert passes, if he does not have more children. Does he mean Stannis? Gods help the realm if he does. Renly, perhaps? Or does he mean someone else, someone not in the House of Baratheon? One of Robert's bastards?_

Reaching his chambers, he pushed open the doors. His bed lay ready, his desk littered with parchment and books. A tray of food lay on his table near the window. A bottle of Arbor gold was placed beside the food.

Jon took hold of the Arbor gold first, pouring himself a cup and downing it quickly. He refilled the cup, and drank again. Refilling his cup a third time, he took small sips, and sat down on one of the chairs. He ate the food laid before him, tasting none of it. When he had finished, he had another cup of the Arbor gold.

He needed sleep. Too much had happened, and the girl could wait until the next day.

 

* * *

 

A servant opened the doors for him, and closed them when he stepped into the chambers. The room was small, but large enough for a single person. A table sat in the far corner, beside the window. A bed for at least three people was pushed against a wall.

On the bed was the girl.

Jon had made a promise to himself to push away all thoughts of what Varys had told him the day before. Right now, the girl mattered. Cautiously, Jon approached her. She did not lift her head from where she stared at the stone floor beneath their feet. Her hands rest on her belly, where another of Robert's bastards grew.  _Perhaps the cause of another rebellion growing in her womb. Does she know what this could mean for her and her child? For the Seven Kingdoms?_

"I do not know your name," he said quietly. He stood nearby, awkward. Was he supposed to say something else? Ask anymore questions? Perhaps, he should be sure she was truly comfortable. An unruly little voice in his head muttered,  _this is probably the nicest room she has ever been in._ He ignored the snide tone of the voice.

The girl continued to stare. Jon's statement was followed by silence. The awkward feeling grew stronger. At least with Lysa, she'd always been clear about how she felt, what she wanted. So much that it grated on his nerves. And his other wives, while neither as demanding as Lysa, had been willing to fill any silences their conversations left. But not this girl. Understandable, but that didn't help. Besides, with all that Jon had learned the day before, he wasn't really one for starting the conversation.

But he reminded himself that she was not aware of the things he was. She couldn't predict what her child might do, how their birth might affect their realm. He was her caretaker, the man protecting her. He would try to be something more than just the man that provided her with a home. He attempt conversation another time, he decided. Maybe now she would answer. "Are you comfortable? Here? I could have you moved to a better room, if you would like." Once he'd spoken, Jon almost wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Like the voice had said, she'd lived in worse conditions before. His words, he was sure, would have her convinced he was just another high up lord. Even he had to admit, this was one of the best chambers in the Red Keep, despite its simplicity.

After more silence, he began to turn away. "I will leave you then." He left it open, an invitation for if she wanted him to stay. Again, he was graced with no answer. Sighing inwardly, he crossed the distance from the bed to the door. Opening it, he looked back one last time. She had not changed position. Nodding his head in acceptance, Jon exited the room.

Just before the door could close all the way, a voice called from inside. "My lord?" A soft, nervous voice. Jon froze, surprised. By this point, he had expected to never hear her voice.

Carefully, as one might treat a frightened animal, he came inside again. The door was gently closed behind him, and he took slow, tentative steps toward her. Her eyes had risen from the floor, and they met his once before she dropped her gaze again. This time, to her hands. It was progress; at least she wasn't watching the floor.

"Yes?" He kept his voice soft. With a man like her father, he didn't doubt she'd had enough of stern, hard men for the rest of her life.

Her mouth opened, and closed. Open and closed again. Blushing, she turned her head away. He could see she was trying to speak, was doing her best, but the girl was likely struck down with nerves. He would be too, he guessed, if he had grown up a peasant and was not being welcomed into the Red Keep by the Hand of the King, who had tried to make conversation with him.

Reaching out, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright," he told her. "Take your time. I understand you're probably frightened."

To his shock, she huffed out a laugh, and mumbled loud enough for him to hear, "Not frightened. You're not nearly as frightening as Father."

"Your father  _is_ a frightening man," he agreed. Her head jerked up, eyes wide. Oh, she had not expected him to pay attention to what she was saying. To hear what she had to say.

"He is." She said it hesitantly. At least she was speaking. He gave her the best smile he could, hoping it conveyed warmth and kindness. Gods knew she needed some. "I'm Maerie, Lord Arryn."

"You know who I am?" he asked her. He furrowed his brow, attempting to remember when he or someone else had introduced him. Who told her his name?

The girl, Maerie, giggled. Her hand hid her smile, and her shoulders shook a little from her laugh. "Most people know who you are, my lord. Lord Jon of the House Arryn, the Hand of the King." At the mention of Robert, she closed off some, becoming stiff and uncomfortable again.

Jon waited for her to speak. If he was the one that spoke the most in their conversations, she would take all the more longer to open again to him. She sighed deeply, before speaking. "I hate him," was what she began with.

And she had every right to. Robert had slept with many whores, some probably less wanting than others, but he had never raped anyone before, certainly not an innocent girl.

"I didn't want him to. I told him no." Her voice had taken on a hard, cold edge to it. When Jon looked closer, her eyes looked empty. A moment passed before she spoke again.

"He saw me. I was going to the market, as the sun was beginning to fade. He was so drunk, it was a wonder he could stand, much less walk and talk. He thought I was a whore. That's what he called me." The more she spoke, the more the anger began to take hold.

"He took my arm, dragged me to a brothel. I tried to break free, asked him to let me go. Begged him. He didn't hear me. I fought as best I could, but never got free. There were people, and they saw me. Watchmen, too. They watched as he brought me to a brothel and threw me onto a bed." She paused. "No one stopped him, because he was the king. That fat, stupid idiot was King Robert, and how could anyone tell the King that he couldn't have this one thing? He's a war hero, after all. Put an end to the Targaryen rule, lost the love of his life to one of them. How could anyone deny him this?" Her voice was bitter and hating.

Her hands, which had remained on her stomach, were clenched in the sheets under her. "The whores that were not with customers took pity on me. Cleaned me up and let me cry. Held me, too. I came home hours later. My father demanded to know where I'd been. And I told him, 'The King raped me. He took me and he raped me.' Father called me a liar, said that it was more likely I'd offered myself to him. He asked me if the King had paid, at least.

"He hadn't. Said I wasn't good enough to deserve any pay."

Her story left Jon disturbed. Never had he expected such a thing from Robert. Never. The boy that he had welcomed as a ward hadn't been a King, but he had certainly not a rapist. That the boy he'd raised in the Eyrie could become a man such as this - a man no better than Rhaegar Targaryen, who had almost certainly taken Lyanna and forced her against her will - was hard for him to accept.

"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. What else was he supposed to say? What else was there to say?

"I don't blame you. Just him. Only him." Her hands went back to her stomach, holding her unborn child protectively. "I would not trade my child for anything in the world. But I would give everything if it meant his father was not Robert Baratheon," she hissed.

They sat there, neither making a sound. Jon wasn't sure what he felt more, sadness for this girl, Maerie, or fury that Robert would have done this. The man had wallowed in his own misery and selfishness for long enough. Jon would not - could not - allow this.

Finally, breaking the silence he told her, "I will see that Robert knows of this. And that he never does such a thing again. He may be king, but I was the boy's foster father. I will see that he is punished, I-" He stopped his rant, realizing he sounded more like a father than  _the Hand speaking of his king._ Maerie watched with something akin to pity, and shook her head.

"And what will you do, Lord Arryn? Scold him? He is the King of the Seven Kingdoms. I am nothing but a whore in his eyes, and will be to the rest of his court if this is brought to his attention." Her shoulders sagged, and a defeated look came across her face. "No, as much as I hate him, I don't want that to happen. King Robert is a drunken, angry fool, one that should not be king, and Queen Cersei is a lion that destroys all in her path. All the smallfolk know this. To the lords, we are content. But we are smarter than any of them give us credit for.

"My child will be in danger, and I can't have that." She gazed at him, eyes pleading. "Please, Lord Arryn. I cannot tell you what you must or must not do. But if you are a kind man, a man of forgiveness, a man of peace, then do not speak of this to either the king or the queen. Please."

And, well, was he to deny her that? Maerie was strong, so incredibly strong that she could ask this thing of him under circumstances like this. She had seen probably less than seventeen namedays, and was now carrying a king's bastard child. Her father, her family, had abandoned her. All she had left now was Jon. Could he truly deny her this?

He hesitated before giving his affirmation. Varys's words rang through his head, reminding him of all that had transpired, and all that could, because of this child. Robert deserved to know, but not until Jon had proof. Of Cersei and her children. The child's life could be in grave danger if he told anyone now. No, he would wait.

Maerie smiled brightly, the action lighting up her face. Gone was any sadness, or anger, or tension. Only joy in knowing she and her child would be safe. Jon hoped it remained so in the years to come. They all needed some happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of calling Robert a "fat, drunk fool" or something like that. You've been warned. People don't like some of Robert's choices.
> 
> I hope you all had a Happy Easter, or if you don't celebrate that sort of thing, then I hope you had a wonderful Sunday! The next chapter will be Dorne?? I think. Posted soon? I think. (Don't hold me to that!)
> 
> Also, there will be some time jumps. We gotta cover at least three years in this Act, 'cause next Act is going to start off our canon timeline-ish thing (i'm so excited!!!). I will always let you know when time has passed and how much at the beginning of a chapter.
> 
> Up until this chapter, it never occurred to me that I could probably write a chapter from Stannis's POV, or Davos's. I mean, I completely forgot their existence until this chapter. I feel like I've failed as a writer.


	14. Arianne I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"That doesn't excuse what you have caused, brother." Oberyn interrupted him. "Gerold and Oswell are dead. Arthur lives, and he and the Northerner guard Daenerys and the bastard. Viserys is lost, gods know where. And yet we sit here, discussing the next way to murder them."_
> 
> _"Your point, Oberyn?"_
> 
> _Her uncle smiled, a smile full of teeth and menace. "Why waste time tracking them down, sending assassins to kill them, making sure the deed is done, when we have Viserys right where we need him. He is alone, no one to guard him, no allies. Except us. Bring him here, to Sunspear. Marry him to Arianne, like you planned. We can crown him, and no one can deny his claim when he is so obviously Targaryen."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as season five begins tonight (I'm pissed at a lot this season), I have written a new chapter within a day. How, you ask? I don't know. I think it's a good chapter, but you guys will have to be the judges of that.
> 
> And I did something like this over on ff.net too, but thank you. As of this moment, this story has four hundred and thirty-eight kudos, and that is more than all my multi-chapter fics combined. So thank you. I wouldn't have gotten this far without any of you, and you are all incredible, amazing human beings. Hugs and kisses to everyone!

Her uncle, Oberyn, was the one that suggested she listen in on his and her father's discussion.  _Why?_ she had asked him. He had answered grimly,  _Because you are a woman grown, and it is time you learned of your father's plans, even if he does not like it._

How had he managed to have her hidden from both her father  _and_ his guard, Areo Hotah, she would always wonder. As it was, she could not spend time pondering what her uncle had done to get her in this room. He'd told her to wait, to stay and listen, and not to leave until he came for her. And while such a thing as eavesdropping on her father had never occurred to her, something in her uncle's expression had her interested enough to attempt it.

Arianne had always been a daring child, pushing the limits and testing the boundaries. And ever since she had found his letter to Quentyn - his letter of betrayal - she had been more than willing to do anything to spite her father.  _This_ , however? If her father found her, he would be enraged, and she had no way to predict what he would do. If Areo found her, not even his love for her would stop him from giving her up to her father. She had come to accept that she was blindly placing her trust in her uncle.

As far as she could tell, she was in a hidden alcove. A thin curtain hid her from view, though she was not sure if it would truly keep her father from seeing her. She could see through well enough, but he must be able to as well, surely. Oberyn had told her to wear her darkest clothes, and so a black, silk dress adorned her body. Her dark hair was tied back so that she could see all clearly. It felt like there was a wall behind her, but she had no way of being sure. She could not make a sound, nor did she dare to move. She feared any movement would jostle the curtain, or would attract their attention. But for all she knew, they could see nothing behind the curtain and there was a door that led to a passageway behind her, and that was how her uncle planned to get to her.

For the moment, she was alone in the room. Her father's solar. She hadn't ventured in here without being summoned since she was a girl, when she could get away with anything. As she grew older, however, she was able to get away with less and less, and she soon learned that her father's solar was not somewhere she was allowed to go freely.

Not that she ever tried to seek out her father. For three years now, her views of her father had changed drastically. Once, she had seen him as a great man, a strong ruler, a loving father. Now all she saw was weakness, and not just from the sickness that plagued his body. It was also from the clear disdain that he held for her, his  _own child_. After all these years, he had never once considered revenge for the murder of his sister Elia. He had left the Lannisters to their will, doing nothing about the grievous murders of Elia and her children. 

And now, now he was planning to take away her birthright. Dorne, the only place in the Seven Kingdoms where women were granted their right of birth, and not passed by for younger brothers. She was the eldest and Dorne was hers, had been since the day she was born. But her father was going to take that, and give it to Quentyn. Quentyn, who had been fostered far from Sunspear for years now. Doran only ever gave her his attention if it concerned marriage. He wanted her married off, given away so Quentyn could have no trouble being named heir of Dorne.

_It will be mine. I will never allow you, Father, to give away my birthright._

For the first time since Oberyn had brought her to this room, she was truly thankful toward her uncle. He, at least, understood.

Suddenly, the door opened. Arianne froze, and she was enveloped with fright. Her heart beat madly in her chest, and she was sure that they must hear it. How could they not? It was deafening, like the drums of war being sounded on an open battlefield. Doran entered, taking heavy, slow steps forward. The gout had limited his movements, and soon he would be nearlyunable to walk at all. Oberyn and Areo Hotah followed, the latter closing the door behind them.

Her uncle only looked once towards where she was, but it wasn't a lingering look, it was a quick glance around the entire room. His eyes stopped on her father, and a look that appeared to be contempt crossed his face. "So," he began, in a mocking voice, "I suppose we send another group of assassins across the Narrow Sea, to murder the last of the Kingsguard, Rhaegar's sister, his bastard, and a Northern bitch? That worked so well last time, especially when there were three Kingsguard, and not one."

Doran sighed tiredly. "Enough of your mocking Oberyn. It did not work. They escaped and those fools murdered Gerold and Oswell." Arianne recognized the names, but could not even begin to understand what they were speaking of. Her uncle had mentioned Rhaegar's sister? And the last of the Kingsguard?

"Yes, they escaped. I told you, the moment we received the letter, that it would not work. Did you think a boy, the same age as your daughter, whose mind is filled with the same madness that caused all of this, would be the wisest source to listen to? I told you we should have waited, you said no. I told you we should be more discreet, but you refused. And even now, when I tell you that we could simply crown the child and have our revenge, you deny me. You ask for my council and yet you ignore all that I say." Oberyn remained calm through his rant, pacing the space before her father's desk in short, quick steps.

Arianne quickly shifted through all that she had learned, anticipating and dreading what conclusion she would come to. They were speaking of the Targaryens, there was no doubt of it. Most lords knew that Viserys and Daenerys had escaped with Queen Rhaella before Lord Stannis and his fleet could capture them. And only some knew that nearly half of the Kingsguard under Aerys had disappeared, never to be seen. Gerold Hightower. Oswell Whent. Arthur Dayne.

So, she could only assume that they were speaking of the surviving Targaryens. If the Kingsguard were involved in this (and still named Kingsguard), then they had to be looking for a way to reclaim the Iron Throne. And now two of them had died, Gerold and Oswell, by her father's hand and not Robert Baratheon's. Which left Arthur Dayne alive. But there was still so much that didn't make sense. Too many pieces of the puzzle were missing. A Northen bitch? Rhaegar's bastard?

Arianne quieted her thoughts when the conversation continued. Doran and Oberyn were glaring heatedly at each other. "What you say is true. I have made mistakes. But so have you, Oberyn, and you cannot berate me when they were your men-"

"That doesn't excuse what you have caused, brother." Oberyn interrupted him. "Gerold and Oswell are dead. Arthur lives, and he and the Northerner guard Daenerys and the bastard. Viserys is missing somewhere in the Free Cities, gods know where. And yet we sit here, discussing the next way to murder them."

"Your point, Oberyn?"

Her uncle smiled, a smile full of teeth and menace. "Why waste time tracking them down, sending assassins to kill them, making sure the deed is done, when we have Viserys right where we need him. He is alone, no one to guard him, no allies. Except us. Find him. Bring him here, to Sunspear. Marry him to Arianne, like you planned. We can crown him, and no one can deny his claim when he is so obviously Targaryen."

"And what of the others? What do you plan to do when Daenerys Targaryen, Arthur Dayne, and Jon Targaryen cross the sea, determined to fight for his claim? What then, brother?" Her father's voice sounded tired, and Arianne did not know why. There was too much was happening, too much being discovered too fast.

"What of them? No one but Arthur survived from the Tower of Joy. No one will believe his claim, not with Dorne supporting Viserys, and not with the boy's looks. Even if some believe his mother to be Lyanna, and his father Rhaegar, who else was present when they were married? Arthur? There is no proof he is anything other than a bastard."

"But you are missing the reason behind all of this!" Doran's face was red from his sudden bout of anger, and his fist slammed onto the tabletop. Oberyn fell silent.

"Our war is with the Lannisters. Not anyone else. If we allow Jon Targaryen to live, the North will fight for him. And with the North comes the Riverlands, maybe even the Vale. We cannot stand against an army like that, not while we are already fighting against the Lannisters." He sunk back down in his seat, wiping a hand across his face. "I do not want any more war than there already will be. No more children should have to die.

"For the life of me, I cannot bide by Elia's wishes. The boy must die, if there is to be peace. The sooner it is done, the more mercifully, the better. Can you imagine, Oberyn, what Tywin Lannister would do if he caught the boy? Daenerys, too? I will not have more deaths like Rhaenys and Aegon. Not again." Silence fell. Oberyn's expression became one of pain.

Eyes wide, Arianne leaned as far back as she could. A hand covered her mouth, the gasp that wanted to escape. She did not care if they saw the movement. A son, by Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. A child, who could not be more than ten years old, that her father and uncle were plotting to murder. And they would put Viserys Targaryen in his place, would marry her to him. She had heard, even at a young age, that Viserys was seen to resemble his father more than Rhaegar ever did (and look at how Rheagar turned out). They would make her Queen, but at what cost? The life of a child, maybe two?

She could not believe her aunt would want this. No, Elia had been a kind woman, a strong woman. She had loved her children fiercely, Arianne could remember that, and had been protective of any other children she found under her care. Her father had said he could not abide by her wishes, so that had to mean Elia would have wanted this Jon Targaryen to live, had wanted him to live. He wouldn't have been Rhaegar's heir, she would not have allowed that to happen. Her aunt was merciful, and would not have allowed her brothers to murder a boy because of some old grudge.

Jon Targaryen was the heir to the Targaryen line. He was the son of Rhaegar, and if what they said was true, his mother had been Rhaegar's second wife. He had more claim to the Iron Throne than Viserys.  _Dorne is mine,_ she thought to herself.  _Westeros is Jon Targaryen's. Elia wouldn't want this. She would have never supported what it is her brothers are doing. She would have defended her children and their claim to the very end, but not by killing other children. Especially not her children's half-brother._

 _I will not marry a madman. If anything, I would rather my husband be this son of Rhaegar than any child of Aerys's._ No. She had made her decision, and that was she would not allow herself nor Jon to fall prey to her uncle and father's meddling. They would not take her birthright away, and they would not take Jon Targaryen's, either.

 

* * *

 

  

It was nearly an hour until Doran, Oberyn, and Hotah had left. By that time, Arianne had grown restless. The discovery of their plot for the Targaryens was what she assumed her uncle had hidden her here for, and that discussion had long since been finished. She would have left, if she could. As there was merely a curtain separating her from the others, she didn't dare try anything.

And so she waited. In the time it took her uncle to come find her, she thought of many things. She remembered what her aunt Elia had been like, the soft, motherly love she held for Arianne. She tried to remember holding Rhaenys, but for the life of her, the memory eluded her. She had never met Aegon.

After she had learned of their fates, Arianne had cried for her lost family for a day. No one deserved such a fate, not even the Lannisters. They should be punished, but she didn't want to seek out a bloody revenge like her uncle or father. What would be the purpose, if that only made them as good as those that had murdered Elia and her children?

This son of Rhaegar, Jon, could be exactly what she had been looking for. Her father had planned to marry her off to a madman, Viserys, and still did. All the while, he had led her on in believing he would give her birthright to her brother. He had lied to her, and while she could excuse him not informing her of her betrothal (though it did anger her), he had done nothing to ease her doubts.

 _Dorne is mine._ Jon Targaryen would be looking for allies. Arianne was willing to give him one, to give him the support of Dorne.  _For now, the promise of revenge for Elia and my cousins will be enough for them to give me. Dorne is mine, but I cannot take it from my father on my own._ As much as she didn't want to, she could propose marriage. Arianne held no desire to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, although she could see how such a match would be well worth demanding. But she had fought so hard for Dorne,  _would_ fight, still, for Dorne. She was loath to give it up.

 _I have time,_ she decided,  _before I propose a formal alliance. For now, simply allowing them to know they have an ally will do. I could warn them of my father's plans._ An idea came to mind, and she smiled joyously.  _Oberyn allowed me in here once. He does not need to know which side I have chosen._ Arianne didn't have to confirm or deny her agreement with their plans, only had to show interest. Once Oberyn saw that, she did not doubt he would help her enter these meetings again.

Arianne had not heard the footsteps from outside the room. When the door was opened, she was so startled, she almost didn't stop the scream that threatened to escape from her lips. Her hand clamped down on her mouth, her breathing grew harsh and ragged, and her eyes widened in terror. She waited for whoever it was to enter, waited for them to see her.  _They have to be here for me, what else could they want? It could be Areo, come to take me to my father for punishment. This, this is as good as treason. My father does not love me enough to save me from the consequences._

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Oberyn entered the room. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, embarrassed at her own foolishness. She had known her uncle was coming to get her. She should have been expecting him. Her heart still raced, and she breathed deeply to calm it.

Her uncle glanced around the room, much like he had before, but this time it was with more scrutiny. His eyes stopped on where she stood, hidden by the light curtain. Grinning, he called, "You can come out now, you know."

Even after all that she had heard them speak of, Arianne still smiled at her uncle. She did not agree with some of what he had done, but he was still her uncle, and he had never betrayed her. She pushed the cloth to the side, stepping out of the hidden alcove. Oberyn walked over to join her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her toward the door.

"So, Ari, what did you learn from this adventure?" he asked, jokingly using the nickname he had given her as a child; the nickname she had hated.

She smacked his shoulder in retaliation for the name, and he laughed wholeheartedly. Arianne laughed with him, but her laughter diminished before she answered his question. "I learned that the last of the Targaryens are trying to reclaim their throne, and their land."

"Good, good. What else?" They walked down silent hallways, their voices lowered. Not a guard nor person was in sight. She wondered how much of that was her uncle's doing, and how much was just luck.

"Rhaegar had a son by Lyanna, his second wife. His name is Jon, and he travels with his aunt Daenerys and Arthur Dayne, as well as one other companion. Viserys was with them, but now he has been separated."

"What else?"

She hesitated before answering, unsure of how Oberyn would react. He had asked for what she heard, and she was willing to give it to him. But his opinion on the matter had been so strong that she worried for what he would say or do when she spoke of it. "I am betrothed to Viserys. You plan to give him the Iron Throne. And to give him the better claim, you are going to have his nephew, Jon, murdered."

Her uncle said nothing at first, only nodded his head in agreement to her words. He slowed down before a door, one Arianne recognized as her uncle's bedchambers. He opened the door and allowed her inside. This was a room that she had spent much of her childhood at Sunspear in. She had grown up at the Water Gardens, but that did not mean she had never visited Sunspear. When she did, her uncle Oberyn's room was always her favorite. Even now, at the age of seventeen, she came to this room many times, for counsel or for talk. It did not matter. Unless he had something important to take care of, her uncle always welcomed her company.

Once the door was closed and they were allowed true privacy, her uncle crossed the room and took a seat on the bed. He patted the spot next to him, obviously intending for her to sit beside him. She followed his lead, and sat with her legs under her, an arm holding her up. Oberyn stroked her face affectionately, an expression of love on his own. He always claimed he loved her the best of her father's children, and that such love could rival the one he held for his own daughters.

"I was the one to make the agreement, you know," he began conversationally. "I traveled to Braavos, and met with Gerold, Oswell, Willem Darry, and Arthur. I could see how a marriage between you and Viserys was beneficial, but I was very much against it. You were too young to have your life planned for you. Especially after Elia, I wanted you to make your own choices in marriage, among other things. Elia had been betrothed and married to Rhaegar, and she died for it. Rhaegar was mad, but I feared - and still do - that Viserys is even worse. Rhaegar cared for Elia, in his own twisted way, as I had learned from Arthur. The worst he had done was leave her behind in King's Landing while he went after Lyanna Stark." He spit the name as if it were poison on his tongue.

Arianne had hated Lyanna Stark for a long time, ever since her aunt had been killed and her cousins slaughtered. She had acquired an attitude of spite for the House Stark, and only ever felt disgusted by the family that had brought such tragedy to hers. But now, she was not so sure the blame was all Lyanna's. Her uncles had always ranted of Rhaegar's madness, had hated him with every portion of their being. Arianne had never truly believed them. If what they claimed was true, and Rhaegar was mad, then the blame couldn't be all of Lyanna's. Lyanna had been younger than Arianne was, and her whole life had been in the North. Arianne had heard some of those that truly hated Lyanna say that the she-wolf had seduced Rhaegar. That she had convinced him to give up Elia and her children, and run away with her. Once, Arianne would have had no trouble believing that. Now she was not so sure what to believe.

Lost in her thoughts, she had not realized her uncle had continued what he was saying. "-should not be given a fate this similar to Elia's. Your father does not agree with me, and I did push the prospect of your marriage today," he said, voice filled with regret. "But if it comes to that, know that I will always be there to watch over you. I will not let Viserys harm you, in any way. I would sooner slit his throat than have him insult you in any way." Her uncle spoke with passion, and she knew he was speaking from his heart, honesty ringing in every word. He would hold himself to this promise, and would kill Viserys the moment he did wrong by her.

 _If it comes to that,_ she reminded herself. As much as she loved her uncle, as kind as he is now, they were on different sides of the same war. She did not think he could see Jon Targaryen beyond his mother, and he would follow Doran's orders to have him killed. Arianne did not want that, and would do all she could to prevent it.

"The Kingsguard did not suspect anything?" she asked innocently, though it was a genuine question.

He shook his head, face grim. "They were desperate. As safe as they were in that house, in that city, they could all feel that it wouldn't last much longer. One of their own, Willem Darry, was dying, their safety could not be guaranteed, and they were short on allies. As powerful as the North is, it is not enough to face the might of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. With Dorne, their chances of victory had increased greatly."

She tried to imagine it, to be so desperate, she wouldn't think twice about such a strange demand. Even as she thought of the worst circumstances she could possibly have found herself in, she would still have questioned such a thing. Confused, she asked Oberyn. "And none of them were suspicious? They had a king, and you were offering your heir to a prince?"

"Smart girl," her uncle told her. "Arthur was suspicious from the start. We were friends once, and I dare say he knew me enough to know there was more to my demand than just hating the boy's mother. The others stopped him before he could raise any more questions. I think they feared it would come to blows, or we would abandon them. We wouldn't have, of course. This was our best chance for revenge. I was relieved they had not allowed him to continue. They just wanted the offer, but Arthur knew me. If he had continued to probe at it, he would have discovered the reason."

He shook his head sadly. "As I said, Arthur and I were once friends, just as he and Rhaegar were once friends. I was Arthur's brother and he was mine, but Rhaegar was his brother and king. He never wanted harm to come to Elia, I know that, but he still chose the she-wolf. And that is why I can never forgive him, why we will always be on different sides. If he had been in King's Landing, Elia might have lived. Instead, he was guarding Lyanna Stark in a tower Elia had given to them when Rhaegar left."

"Uncle, Elia gave them the Tower of Joy? I thought they had taken it?" Arianne had known of her aunt's good heart, had seen it and felt its love. She would not put it past Elia to spare whatever child Lyanna birthed, taking careful care to be sure the child knew its place. But practically helping Rhaegar shame and betray her?

"No. My sister had always been more . . . forgiving than I could ever be. She wanted to help Lyanna Stark, befriend her, even. Motherly instincts, I assume? According to her, Lyanna Stark had not come willingly, and did not want any of this. I didn't believe it, but Elia would not give up. She stopped me from charging to King's Landing the moment Rhaegar left, and pleaded with us to help the she-wolf. 'If you will not help her, then leave her be. She does not deserve your hatred,' Elia had written to Doran in one of her letters.

"That was the last we heard from Elia. The Lannisters sacked King's Landing not two weeks later." His voice turned pained and bitter, and he glared down at the floor. Arianne said nothing, used to how her uncle would get when he spoke of Elia like this. No words or actions would help to comfort him. He could get himself through the grief without anyone's aid.

When Oberyn straightened his back, expression tight but determined, Arianne took his hand. She squeezed comfortingly, and he returned the gesture. It was now, she decided, that she could convince him to help her do this again. She hated to manipulate him, specifically when he was vulnerable like this. Oberyn did not often show weakness to anyone, and she was one of the few exceptions. She would feel the guilt from what she was going to do for years to come. But she had to do this, and if it cost her the trust of her uncle, then so be it.

 _We all have to make sacrifices. And this one is mine._ "Uncle," she started, questioningly. She waited until he was looking at her, waiting for her to continue. "What you said, about my choice in the matters that concern me, like marriage . . ." She tried to portray herself as uncertain and hesitant as much as she could without rising his suspicions. "Do you think that you could, perhaps, allow me to do this again? I won't tell anyone, I promise," she added quickly, for good measure.

Oberyn shook his head, a grin back on his face. "Really, Ari? Are you going to stutter, too? What were you aiming for, a little girl, asking her father if she could please explore the rest of the castle?" He was mocking her, but she feared that he had discovered what her intentions were. Until he chuckled lightly and said, "I know you, Arianne of the House Martell. You're not some shy, scared girl afraid to look her own uncle in the face. You're confident, outspoken, daring. Now, try again, and this time be yourself when you ask me for a favor."

Immediately she rose to the challenge, however small it was. Only her uncle could get to her like that. She squared her shoulders and held her head high. "Uncle, I wish to have more of a choice in the matters of my life. Would you please consider allowing me to eavesdrop on your meetings with my father when you speak of these matters?"  _Was that confident enough for you, Uncle?_

"Very good. That is the niece I know. Never forget that, Arianne. You are a strong woman, and you should never allow any man, or woman, to cow you. Never show weakness, and use the weakness you find against them." His advice was well, and she appreciated his love for her. But his words only served to expand the guilt she felt for this already.  _He thinks I do this for just myself, that I am with him in his hatred for Jon Targaryen._

_It could be worse. I could be manipulating him in order to help the Lannisters. I hope that this is as far as I will have to go to get what I want. I'm not sure how much I will have to sacrifice to achieve this, but I'm not sure if I can give anymore. At least, not when it comes to my family._

Still, she smiled at her uncle and accepted what he had said. "Thank you, Uncle. I'm glad that you understand. My father would never have allowed me to do such a thing." She was fairly confident that she knew where her father stood on all of this, but she needed to be sure. He was her opponent now, maybe even her enemy. She had to know.

Oberyn frowned but he didn't argue. "Your father and I do not agree on many things. And one of them would be you. He loves you, but he would prefer to keep you in the dark until it is absolutely necessary to inform you. As you could see today, I disagree. He . . . underestimates you. He would give you power, but I think he worries your ambition will get the best of you. He would control you, advise your every move, and without realizing, make you into his puppet. Doran knows that you are strong, but he fears your strength."

"He is weak," she said, but her statement was more of a question. This was for her uncle to answer, not for her to assume.

"No, not exactly. I think that he sees much of Elia in you, and that he feels guilt. He could not save her, and so he will save you. And he will drag you down until you have no air to breathe, until he is absolutely sure that he can protect you."

"But you don't think that way."

"I see Elia in you, too," he replied, eyes bright with what she thought was pride. "Elia was weighed down by many things. Her sickness, her husband, her older brother. She never had the chance to rule Dorne, and she never had the chance to be Queen. But you are Doran's firstborn, and you are heir to Dorne. If you are married to Viserys, then you will be Queen. I see that you have more freedom than Elia, and that you have more potential for greatness than she did. But not with Doran holding you back as he is now. The more you are aware of, the more you become part of the rulings of Dorne, the better leader you will be.

"You don't think he saw the change in you, realized that you believed he would give away your birthright to Quentyn? He saw it, and so did I. But he kept the truth from you, and you were limited to seeing yourself as a marriage prospect, as the future lady of some lord. I think he hoped you would become less headstrong, would be wiser and more cautious, like him." He released a humorless laugh.

She continued for him. "But one has to find a balance. That is why my father consults you. You are more headstrong than I, quicker to act, quicker to anger. My father is cautious, prefers to take things one small step at a time. Slower to act, slower to anger."

Her uncle gave a nod of his head, and yes, she could see the pride in his eyes now. "Yes, and you are that balance. You make decisions quickly, but you think them over before you take action. You are strong willed, but know when it is wise to continue and when it is wise to stop. Doran and I can see that, but Doran is not ready for you to grow up. And I will give you every chance I can to see the light. To my brother, you are still a child. But I know that you haven't been a child for a long time. You are a woman, and you can only improve with time and knowledge."

"Unbowed," she said, letting his words sink into her skin, pour into her veins.  _I love you Uncle. I love you Father. And that is why I must do this. Elia would never forgive you. And neither would I, if you continue this plot that you have._ "Unbent." Her father had tried to hold her steady, to keep her at bay. He may have had her best interests at heart, but she could make her own decisions now. "Unbroken."  _You cannot hold me back. And this will be the first choice I make that will be free of your influence. I am not a child to be kept from the troubles of the world. War will come, Father, and I will do what is best for Dorne and for House Martell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that Arianne was meant to be very independent in here. I didn't intend for her to come in this early in the story, but even then I had planned for her to make her own path. She sees her decision as the way with less consequences to come in the future, and so she makes a choice based on what she sees as right and wrong. She is the most prominent woman to make herself equal in the books, and I love her so so much. I also don't want her to seem like she hates her father. She doesn't, but she feels betrayed that he does not see her as his heir. This chapter has been pretty interesting to write, and I really hope that you guys enjoyed it.
> 
> Also, I was hoping there would be some part that revolves around the relationship between Arianne and Areo Hotah, but I guess not this chapter. I tried.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://mosttulip.tumblr.com/), if you want to come and rant with me about Arianne not being in the show, which I have begun to do (or any of the others cut out this season). Or if you want to talk asoiaf.


	15. Ned III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He was greeted by the sight of Rodrik Cassel hastening to him. "My lord," he said, "you have visitors in your solar. They say it is important you see them immediately."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Who are they?" he asked. He had not heard of anyone coming to Winterfell, and even if Catelyn had been the one to hear about it from Maester Luwin, she would have told him._
> 
>  
> 
> _"My lord, it is Lady Mormont and Lord Umber."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Apparently staying up until 4AM with my brothers was just the thing I needed to get my ideas moving again. This chapter has been horrible, and even after finishing and editing, I still feel like it isn't one of the best. There is some "smut" (if you could even call it that) in this chapter, but nothing explicit.
> 
> And you know what? I MISS BENJEN!! I was just watching this clip from season one with Benjen in it and I was struck with all these FEELINGS! LIke, Benjen was a cool guy, and he was an awesome brother and uncle, especially to Jon, and WHY DID YOU HAVE TO PRETTY MUCH DIE?? (I apologize for all my long "notes" I got about three hours of sleep so I could finish this)
> 
> Chapter 11 was edited a little, so go check that out if you want.

The Night's Watch deserter was brought before Ned in chains, two guards flanking him and grasping his shoulders tightly. On his face was a sneer, an unusual expression for one facing death. Ned looked the man up and down, taking note of his ragged clothes and dirty skin. The man, it appeared, had not been prepared to leave Castle Black. If Ned had to guess, this man had probably seen an opportunity and decided to take it. They had found no spare clothes on him, hardly any weapons, and no food.

Ser Rodrik Cassel had discovered him, just a ways outside of Wintertown. With the clothes the man wore, there was no doubt that he was from the Night's Watch. And to desert the Wall was to forfeit one's life. Rodrik had questioned the man and sent word back to Winterfell that a deserter had been caught. Ned had readied a few men and departed his home, his son Robb coming along.

It wouldn't be Robb's first execution. The first had been when Robb was eight, and the criminal had been a man that murdered two others in a drunken rage. Robb had sat stoically through it all, even as the man begged and pleaded for mercy. Afterwards, when Ned had spoken to Robb, his son had understood very well why Ned had needed to do what he had done, and accepted the fact that in time, he would have to do this when he was Lord of Winterfell.

Now, the deserter was pushed to his knees, his head forced onto the ironwood stump. He said nothing, did not cry or plead. The man had accepted death, had gone so far as to sneer at the prospect. Theon Greyjoy approached with Ice, handing the Valyrian sword over to Ned.

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." The name he said meant little to him in regards of who he had sworn to serve, but few knew of the side he had chosen in the war to come. The secrecy was important if they hoped to have any chance. He lifted Ice above his head, and brought the blade down, severing the man's head from his body.

Theon took Ice from Ned, sheathing the large sword once again. Robb's gaze remained on Ned as he neared. He raised his hand to place it between Robb's shoulder blades, leading the boy onward to his horse.

"Father," Robb began quietly, "why did the man desert? There is honor in the Night's Watch. Why would a man abandon it?"

Ned thought on how best to explain it to his son. He waited until Robb was on his horse, and he on his own, before answering. "Most of the people of the North understand the purpose of the Night's Watch," he said, and looked expectantly at Robb.

"To protect the realm from the wildlings," Robb said, and continued in a lower voice, "and the Others." Ned smiled fondly at his son, reaching over to card a hand through Robb's thick hair.

"You have spent too much time listening to Old Nan and her stories. And yes, it is to protect the realm from the wildlings and anything else beyond the Wall that could threaten us."

"But wouldn't most men be proud to serve such a cause?" his son asked him. "Knights do the same, except they protect lords and ladies."

"When you join the Night's Watch, you take an oath. You may have no wife, no children, no lands or titles. You are not allowed to lay with any woman, and you may not leave your post. That is something many men are not willing to give up. Most of the men in the Night's Watch now are criminals. The Seven Kingdoms no longer see the Night's Watch as honorable, and so no one wishes to take the oath."

Robb's face pinched in confusion. "Then why did Uncle Benjen take the oath?"

Ned had not been expecting such a question, and did not give an answer immediately. That was not something he thought his son would understand very well. Benjen's reasons for leaving were not as simple as many of the others, and Ned was unsure how to explain it to Robb.

"Uncle Benjen had many reasons for joining the Night's Watch. Some of it was because of the Rebellion, and how many of our family did not return from the war. Winterfell was full of ghosts for Benjen, and he didn't have a wife or child to help him to move on." He paused and looked to Robb. His son still appeared to be a little puzzled, but seemed to have understood Ned's explanation.

His son asked him no more of the Night's Watch or his uncle Benjen, and instead raced along the way with Theon. Ned let them go, watching them in amusement and pushing back sad memories of him and his siblings doing similar things.

Soon, Winterfell was rising above them, dark and ominous. The sky was grey, adding to the foreboding feelings that any who were not familiar with Winterfell or the North would feel. Ned and his men were Northerners, and felt at home under the winter skies and within the castle walls.

They rode into the courtyard, their horses halting at the stables. They began to dismount, taking care of their horses and seeing to the good care of their weapons and armor.

Climbing off his horse, Ned was immediately barraged by two small blurs that were suddenly clinging to his legs. They hugged him, and both let out the initial cry of "Father!" before beginning to ask question after question. "Where were you?" "What was it like?" "Did you fight bad men?" "Did you win?" and several more that Ned was unable to catch. He looked from one little child to the other, still surprised from their sudden attack.

Once the surprise wore off, he reached down to pick up both children. They squealed and squirmed in his arms, pretending to put up a fight. He allowed them to pretend, holding them to his chest and playing along. Finally, they settled down, their laughter and giggles fading away.

He grinned down at them, then tried to change his expression to a stern one. "And what are you two doing, running away from your Mother? Did you leave a lesson so you could come see me? Well, what have you two little troublemakers been doing while I was gone?"

The two ducked their heads, although Ned could see that (for the moment) they felt no shame in whatever their actions had been. "Maester Luwin was boring and we heard you come back! We wanted to see you, Father," said the older of the two, Arya. Really, Ned should have known this was her doing. The other child, Bran, was a good, respectful boy nearly all the time. At least, unless his older sister convinced him to do something wrong. Arya liked to do as she pleased, and took pleasure in antagonizing those in her family. Her mother and sister especially.

"Those lessons are important, Arya. You will need them one day." The young girl pouted, but was not truly upset. She'd done enough things like this to know that her father was not upset with her.

"Brandon and Arya!" The call came from across the yard. Catelyn was walking over to where Ned stood, his two youngest children in his arms. She truly did look stern, and she moved quickly and sharply, displeasure all but pouring off of her. Ned took notice that Robb remained a ways back, avoiding even looking in their direction. The boy was aware of the consequences of their mother being in such a mood. He'd been on the receiving end of such a scolding plenty of times.

Maester Luwin was slower in following her. They had both exited the Great Hall, and were making their way over to the party of men. Arya and Bran tried to make themselves smaller in Ned's arms, trying to hide from what was to come.

Catelyn stopped right in front of him, hands coming to rest on her hips. She didn't look at Ned, her attention fixed solely on the mischievous children that he held. She waited until they dared to look up from Ned's chest to speak.

"Maester Luwin has informed me that the two of you ran out of your lessons. And then you proceeded to cause mischief around all of Winterfell, dirtying yourselves in your adventures outside, and promptly ran over to greet your father. Now, seeing as the two of you are currently hiding in your father's arms, I would guess that what Maester Luwin has told me is, in fact, true." An eyebrow rose when no response was made. Catelyn narrowed her eyes at the two children, watching them as a predator would watch its prey.

"Nothing to say for yourselves?" No answer came. "Very well then. Ned, if you would please place your children on the ground, so myself and Maester Luwin may escort them to their rooms where they will remain until the evening meal." Ned did as told, because even he had come to be intimidated by Catelyn when she was even the slightest bit upset. He gently set Arya and Bran on the ground, backing away a step or two.

Catelyn grabbed hold of Arya's wrist, whipped around, and marched back to where she had come. Maester Luwin did the same, holding Bran's hand, although his grip was much more gentle. As he had while coming outside, he took his time leading Bran the same way Catelyn and Arya had gone. Before he had taken more than a few steps, he turned back to Ned.

"My lord, it is good to see you back. The midday meal is awaiting you and your men in the Great Hall. I do not doubt Lady Catelyn would like to speak to you once you've eaten." He gave a short bow and continued to take Bran back to his chambers. Bran threw a pitiful look over his shoulder, but otherwise went with no resistance. Ned imagined Arya was likely trying in some way to escape her mother. No matter what she would try, however, her attempts would be for nothing. If Catelyn wanted her to remain in her chambers until the evening meal, then Arya would remain in her chambers until the evening meal.

He sighed, and focused his attention once more on his horse and men. He allowed a stable boy to take care of the horse, but he took care to check over his men himself. The deserter had put up a fight when found. As far as he could tell, all of his men were unharmed. Robb was having a conversation with Theon, and the two boys laughed over something.

Ned was glad his son had found a friend, but he was saddened that it had been Theon. As much as he liked Theon, too, he could not allow himself to be a fatherly figure to the boy. It was upsetting that Theon had been taken from his family at such a young age, and although Ned had truly tried to become as close to a father as he could to Theon, he simply could not allow himself to form as close a bond with the young noble as with his own children.

Robert had given him Theon so that, should Balon Greyjoy or any other Ironborn ever attempt to rise in rebellion, Balon's only son and heir would be executed. Ned knew this, Catelyn knew this, and Theon knew this. Robb was aware of who Theon was, and who his family was, but Ned did not think Robb had ever considered just what would happen if the Greyjoys rebelled, else he might have not been so quick to befriend their young ward. When Theon first came to Winterfell, Ned had seen him hold back from forming any close bonds with anyone for a while, but eventually Robb had won him over, as he did most.

Once he had finished speaking to Rodrik and checking over everything, Ned led his men into the Great Hall. The rest of the castle had eaten already, but food and drink was still set out on the table. Ned took his seat and ate hungrily into the venison on his plate.

The other men talked and joked during their meal, but Ned ate his quietly and finished quickly. He excused himself once he was finished, leaving the Great Hall once again. Outside, he retrieved Ice from his horse. He grabbed a whetstone and walked across the yard to the godswood.

The godswood was quiet, the rustling of branches in the trees and leaves on the ground being the only sound. Any noises from Winterfell were blocked by the thick trunks and overhanging branches, leaving the godswood free for tranquility. Ned slowed as he approached the weirwood tree, stopping just before the carved face. Blood red leaves surrounded the tree, made all the brighter by its white bark. The melancholy face watched him approach at a leisurely pace. He kneeled before it, offering a simple prayer to the old gods.

He opened his eyes, gazing into those of the heart tree. They stared back at him, the eyes of the gods. They were old eyes, and had seen many things he had never seen, things before his time, and likely after it, too. He waited a moment before he moved, standing up and then sitting himself down on the stone that rested beside the tree. He unsheathed Ice, laying the Valyrian blade across his lap carefully. Taking the whetstone, he began to clean the blade. The blood from the deserter remained and Ned would see the stains removed from the sword of his family.

Ned ran the whetstone across the surface of Ice's blade, allowing the soothing rhythm to clear his mind of any thoughts and worries. He enjoyed the peace the simple actions brought. The Lord of Winterfell had many duties, and although he had been prepared for most of them, and he had Catelyn and a steward and many others to help, he was often overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of all the tasks he had to accomplish. He did not take pleasure from the executions that he as Lord of Winterfell had to see to, but cleaning Ice allowed his mind to rest.

He was alone for a while, and did not immediately notice when someone else had joined him in the godswood. But when he looked up, he found his eldest daughter, Sansa, standing before him. She had seen eight years now, and was already beginning to show her mother's extraordinary beauty. Even at this young age, she was the picture of the perfect lady. Unlike Arya, she took great pleasure in learning that from her mother and from Septa Mordane.

It wasn't often that she came to the godswood, however. Like her mother, she preferred to worship the Seven rather than the old gods. But she did enter sometimes. He turned more towards her and gestured for her to sit on the ground next to him. He continued to run the whetstone over Ice, but made sure to pay careful attention to what his daughter had to say.

"Father?" She said it slowly, cautiously. She folded her hands in her skirt, and Ned could see the tension that ran through her from the corner of his eye. He stopped his motions, giving her his full attention. Whatever she wished to speak of, it was important to her.

"Yes, Sansa?"

She hesitated before saying anything, biting her lip and looking at the ground before her. "It's just . . . Theon told me . . . he said that I was becoming more beautiful with every day that passed. And I thanked him for the compliment. But then he said . . ." She stopped, lifting her eyes from the ground to look at her father. "He said it was a good thing, and that my husband would be happy that he would have a beautiful idiot to marry and . . ."

Ned set Ice down on the ground so he could bring Sansa against him. He wrapped his arms comfortingly around her, kissed the top of her head, and listened as she spoke between her small sobs.

"I don't want to be beautiful if that's all my husband will want. I want him to love me, like you and mother love each other. Father, what if Theon's right? What if they will only want me because I am beautiful? And they don't love me or like me at all? And they think I really am an idiot-" She cut herself off, burying her head against her father's chest.

It was a bit unusual for Ned to have to provide comfort to Sansa. He loved his eldest daughter, and Sansa loved him as well. But she always went to her mother for such things as this. He understood, however, that Catelyn was probably busy scolding Bran or Arya, or taking care of one of her other duties. And Sansa, of course, would know that he would be in the godswood, taking care of the sword that had been passed down through their generations.

"It's alright," he said against her hair. He pressed another kiss to her head. He held her face between his hands and pulled her back enough so that she could see his face. He smiled warmly, reassuringly. "There will be some men who only want you for your beauty." Sansa appeared even more dismayed at that, and he could see the tears filling her eyes.

Quickly, he added, "But I will not let you marry any man like that. I will find you a man that loves you for who you are, that treats you well, and that cares for you. I promise you that, on the old gods and the new. Do you believe me?"

She stared up at him with wide, trusting eyes and nodded. Then she let her head fall on his shoulder, and allowed him to rock her gently where they sat. Neither said anything more, and she did not cry anymore. He would keep that promise. He would never let anyone marry his daughter who would not love her for herself. She would have a good life, he would see to that.

 

* * *

 

The evening meal went well, despite Arya's best attempts to throw food at her brothers and start a fight. Catelyn took her to her chambers again, but Ned had no worries. Arya often did such a thing when she was upset. Of course she would be upset that she had been caught after escaping her lessons earlier and going to see him. If he had to, he would speak with her tomorrow.

He saw his other children to bed. Bran had him read two stories to him, although he was asleep almost immediately after Ned began the second. He hugged Sansa for longer than normal, and reassured her that Theon was not to be listened to when it came to her and the man that would be her husband. He gave in to her pleas to sing a song, and sang a version of "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" that had Sansa giggling throughout. He finished, kissed her forehead, and went to see to Robb. His oldest child was adamant that he was old enough to be seen to bed on his own, but allowed his father to make sure all the same.

Ned did enter Arya's chambers, but found her already asleep. He kissed her hair and left, careful not to make a sound. He entered his own chambers to find himself alone. He did not doubt Catelyn was off encouraging Maester Luwin to be more strict, or was seeing to that Septa Mordane would be present for the lessons from then on. He shrugged his shoulders and started to undress.

When he was in his nightclothes, he saw to it that the fire was burning bright and warm. He and Catelyn had their own separate chambers, but preferred to share one another's bed. Theirs was a lucky marriage, and he hoped that he would find all of his children good matches so that they might also have marriages such as his and Catelyn's.

Once he was sure the fire was warm enough for Catelyn, he climbed onto the bed. Catelyn had long since grown used to the North, but her Southern blood still had her wishing for warmer weather. Hers were the warmest chambers in all of Winterfell, and he made sure his rooms were warm enough for her when she slept in his bed.

Not long after he had settled into his bed, the door to his chambers was opened. Catelyn walked in, she too, dressed in her nightclothes. She wore a sly grin, and closed the door behind her. She took her time walking over to the bed, her steps slow and teasing. When she was within reach, Ned took hold of her shoulders and pulled her onto the bed. She let out a small yelp in surprise, but laughed all the same.

They kissed, long and deep. When they broke apart for more air, Ned leaned down to kiss her throat. He would press a kiss to a spot before he sucked a bruise to her skin, low enough to be easily hidden by clothing. Her quiet moans urged him on, and he moved up to capture her lips again. That one became more heated, spurred on by desire.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck, and her legs spread to allow him between them. He reached his hand down lower, and began to slide her nightdress up to her waist. He was stopped, though, when Catelyn took hold of his wrist.

"As much as I would like to, Ned, later," she told him regretfully.

"Alright," he answered, nodding his head carefully. He pushed himself off of her, laying down beside her instead. Catelyn rolled against his side, rested her head on his shoulder.

She giggled and reached her hand over to cup his cheek. "Don't look so put out. I said later, not never. Besides, I have something important to tell you." She sat up, resting her weight on one arm. Ned watched her curiously, and lifted himself onto his elbows.

Her eyes were lit up with excitement, and now she looked almost giddy. Ned stared at her curiously, waiting for her to speak. She hesitated a moment, debating over something. Her mind was made up about whatever it was she had been indecisive about. She took his hand in hers and brought it over to her stomach, where she placed his hand.

"I am with child, Ned."

He did not say anything at first. What was there for him to say? Some many emotions rolled and crashed inside of him. Excitement, joy, and expectation were at the forefront. But those were closely followed by fear, anxiety, trepidation. He was elated to have another child, but there could always be complications with the birth. These many pregnancies by a single woman were not common, and some ended in death for the mother. Was it fair to ask that of Catelyn? She had provided him with two sons and two daughters already. Did he need one more?

"What is wrong?" Catelyn asked, the excitement disappeared and replaced with worry. "Ned, what is it?"

He took her hands in his, searching for the right words to say. He wasn't the best with words, but Catelyn often had him wishing he could be. She was worth so many words and praises that he wasn't even sure how to begin. Brandon had been good at this, had been good at most things he did. Ned was the second son, the spare, so he did not need to be as great as Brandon had been.

Brandon was dead, though, and Ned was Lord of Winterfell, not his brother. Catelyn was his wife, and he would do his best to give her all that she deserved.

She watched him uncertainly, unsure of what his reaction would be. "Cat," he said, "you are the greatest woman to have ever lived in the world."

That brought a smile to her face, and he could see the relief she felt at his words. "So you are happy about this? About our child?"

"I am worried for you and the child, but I can't help my happiness. I feared asking the gods for one child, and you have given me four healthy children, and now we will have a new child. There is nothing more I could have asked for. You have given me a family again."

"Nothing less than we deserve." She kissed him, barely more than a peck of their lips together. Ned put her hand on the back of her neck and kissed her again, more deeply this time.

"Well, it is later," he said some minutes later, motioning to the bed and themselves. Catelyn rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, but they both knew that she wanted to just as much as he did.

"Perhaps. If my lord were to ask kindly."

Ned grinned, rolling them over to the position they had been in before they had stopped. "Of course. My lovely lady wife, would you allow me to take you to bed?"

"Of course, my lord. Always," was her reply.

 

* * *

 

A day later, they announced the pregnancy over the evening meal. The children were ecstatic. Bran especially was glad to not have to be the youngest anymore. "It is difficult, Father," he had told him once. "Everyone else is bigger than me. Even Arya!". Robb and Bran hoped it would be a boy, while Sansa hoped for a girl. An argument broke out between them, with Sansa claiming that there were enough boys and she needed a sister to play with. When Robb told her that she had Arya, she shook her head vehemently and told them that Arya may as well be a boy. Arya did not disagree.

It was a good evening. Maester Luwin had the cooks prepare something close to a feast, and they celebrated the child that would be born in a number of months. Toasts were made in honor of Ned, Catelyn, and their unborn child.

Catelyn had even allowed their children to stay for longer than they normally would. Robb was old enough that he was able to stay up for most celebrations, but Sansa, Arya, and Bran were not. Regardless, Arya and Bran were asleep not very long into the feast. Robb and Sansa were kind enough to take care of their younger siblings, and Sansa told them that she would be going to bed too. Robb returned so he could join Theon once again.

Ned watched Catelyn go to see the children to bed. He would go, too, but would wait until Catelyn returned. As long as the feast continued, one of them should be present.

Arya and Bran were still asleep, the excitement having worn them out sooner than usual. Sansa was nearly asleep, and spoke drowsily with him about the feast and their new sibling. "It should be a girl," was the last thing she murmured before she, too, fell asleep.

As Ned was leaving Sansa's chambers, he heard rushed footsteps approaching him. When he faced the direction they were coming from, he was greeted by the sight of Rodrik Cassel hastening to him. "My lord," he said, "you have visitors in your solar. They say it is important you see them immediately."

"Who are they?" he asked. He had not heard of anyone coming to Winterfell, and even if Catelyn had been the one to hear about it from Maester Luwin, she would have told him.

"My lord, it is Lady Mormont and Lord Umber."

His eyes widened in shock, and he thanked Rodrik for delivering the message. "Inform Lady Catelyn and Maester Luwin of this. Tell them to remain at the feast but to keep a watchful eye."

"Aye, my lord," Rodrik said, and left to see to Ned's orders.

Ned breathed deeply to soothe himself. He could only think of the worst reasons why they would be here, and that was something he knew he should not focus on. He would have to take care of this visit cautiously. If they did not want to be seen, then he would have to figure out how to hide their stay in Winterfell. He trusted nearly everyone in Winterfell, but he knew that even so, any one of them could be a spy.

As soon as he was calm enough to speak to his two guests, Ned hurried to his solar. It wasn't unusual for there to be word from Lady Mormont or the GreatJon. They were, if anything, two of his most supportive lords in the war that was sure to come. Both had taken his side immediately, and Maege had even brought him Bethany to send as another protector for his nephew and those with the boy. They were his most loyal lords, and his close friends.

He was always afraid for Jon, for anything could happen in Essos that Ned would not know of. His fears were not calmed in the least with the knowledge that his most loyal lords had deemed to come to Winterfell in order to speak with him. Anything important could be sent by raven, and even word of a visit could be sent ahead of time. Anything, with the exception of any word they had regarding the Targaryens across the sea. If that wasn't cause for worry, then the fact that they had come to Winterfell  _together_ and were both asking for a moment of his time was.

Jory Cassel stood outside his solar, awaiting his arrival. "Lord Umber and Lady Mormont are inside, my lord." Ned smiled in gratitude, and halted as Jory opened the door to the room. He was a good boy, much like his uncle Rodrik, and would take his uncle's place once Rodrik grew too old to hold his position. He was loyal to a fault, but Ned was not ready to allow him to be a part of their plots and secrets. When Ned entered, Jory made to follow. He was stopped with a hand.

"I apologize, my lord. I did not realize you wished for me to remain outside. My mistake," Jory said, stepping back from the doorway, head bowed.

Ned patted his shoulder reassuringly. "It is alright Jory. Keep guard outside the door," he ordered, turning to walk into his solar and meet with his bannermen. Before he did, he added, "Watch carefully. You never know who may be trying to listen." Jory gazed at him with confusion, but enough time spent as one of Ned Stark's guards had him schooling his face to a blank expression, ignoring the feeling and focusing on his duties. He nodded, and turned his back to the door.

Maege Mormont and the Greatjon stood near Ned's desk. Both were dressed in traveling clothes; fur cloaks, breeches, riding boots. Maege's dark hair was tied back, and several streaks of grey were visible. The wrinkles on her face, appearing with age, seemed more prominent than ever before. She looked tired, and older than her years. While a smile broke out upon seeing him, it did not hide the way her eyes seemed less alive, more empty.

Towering over her, Jon Umber released a might bellow of, "Lord Stark! It has been too long." He pushed his cloak out of the way and made his way over to where Ned had been coming to them. He held out a forearm, and Ned gripped it with strength nowhere near equal to that of the Greatjon's.

"Too long, indeed, my friend," was his reply, and though it was true, he almost preferred to keep it that way. Dark wings, dark words, it was said, but darker words would come from men, not birds. Their arrival meant nothing good had occurred. As they knew it before he did, he had to wonder if it could be worse than anything his imagination could come up with.

The Greatjon let go of his arm, moving back as to allow Maege to make her greetings. Ned noticed that, similar to Maege, there was an air of change around Jon Umber. It was less sadness, however, and more tension. More anger, perhaps? His sword, one larger than Ice, was strapped to his back. Strange, as the lords typically did not need much weaponry on the journey to Winterfell, or in Winterfell itself.

"My lord," Maege murmured, her face stretched by a half-smile. She offered him the same greeting as the Greatjon, and Ned took the offering with less force than the one before, but with no less warmth.

Leading them to where they had been before, he asked, "What is it that you have come here to speak to me of?" as he offered them seats in the chairs before the desk. They sat down, but neither relaxed. Their backs were straight, heads held high. Maege's hands were folded in her lap, and the Greatjon's were gripping the arms of his chair.

For a moment, no one spoke. The air was charged with a tension that did not dispel Ned's worries. The two exchanged a look, a silent conversation that had begun before Ned joined them passing between the two. Finally, Maege returned her gaze to Ned.

Ned's muscles clenched as he looked upon her face. Her expression, her body language, her  _eyes_ said it all. Something terrible had happened. And Ned would not like hearing it, but it was important that he did. He needed to hear it, even if he would rather hear anything else.

"I received a letter, Ned. From Bethany. It was delayed, and took some time in getting to me. Two months at least, is my guess." She walked over to where a bag Ned had not noticed lay. Maege reached into it and withdrew a parchment, weathered and torn. Her back had been to them, but now she faced them with apprehension on her normally peaceful features. Returning to her place, she pushed the parchment into Ned's hands. When he attempted to ask her of its contents, she shook her head vehemently, refusing to speak.

Accepting her decision, he tried to prepare himself for what he would learn from this letter. He understood that Bethany typically sent a copy of whatever information he received to her lady. This was the first he had seen of this particular letter. He would not be worried, if Maege had not been exhibiting this kind of fear. Yes, fear was what she showed. It did nothing to reassure him.

He opened the parchment and read. 

> **_Maege,_ **

> **_I don't know when you shall receive this, nor when I will be able to send word again. Many dire things have occurred in these past days._ **

> **_Our home in Myr was found. Several assassins attacked us. We were able to escape and kill them. Oswell suffered an injury to his leg, but we were able to find a tavern to hide in for most of the day. We were awaiting a ship we had been allowed passage on to be nearly ready to depart._ **

> **_As we were making our way to the docks, Daenerys noticed that some men were following us. We were met with a dozen or so Dornishmen. Maege, they were searching for us._  **  ** _We did not make it far before Gerold and Oswell refused to go on. They had us leave them behind, and I know in my heart that they have been killed. I know not what became of those Dornishmen._  **  ** _I'm afraid that is not where our unfortunate circumstances end, as much as I would like them to._**

> **_Arthur discovered a letter from Viserys, addressed to Doran and Oberyn Martell. He had been conspiring with them for a long time, and he was the reason our attackers were able to find us. Both Arthur and myself suspect our first attackers to have been with them, meant to draw us out and, if possible, kill Jon. The others, we think, were meant to succeed if they failed._ **

> **_I cannot tell you where we are, in fear that this letter may not make it to you. If it does, please inform Lord Stark of these events. I urge you to take no action against Dorne or anyone else. Our attackers are dead, most likely, and Viserys is gone. I will send you more word when I can._ **

> **_Bethany._ **

Ned set the parchment down on the desk before him, numbed by what he had read. It was almost worse than he could have imagined. In one attack, almost everything had been lost. They had no idea where Jon, Dany, Arthur, and Bethany were, or if they were even still alive. There was little to nothing they could do about Doran and Oberyn Martell and they couldn't be sure if Viserys still posed a threat or not.

"I know that Bethany has written the truth." A hint of a smile appeared on Maege's face, but vanished just as quickly. "She would not lie or exaggerate any of this. It is her writing there, I am sure of it."

Burying his head in his hands, Ned sighed heavily. He wondered when everything had taken a horrible turn. Why would the gods give him the blessing of a new child, and then almost take his nephew and king away from him?

"We are unsure if Robert Baratheon knows of them or not. We have heard nothing from King's Landing. Have you, my lord?" The Greatjon asked him, his voice surprisingly gentle for a man so prone to be loud and violent.

Shaking his head, Ned replied, "None. King's Landing is silent, as are the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. At this point, the whole kingdom could know of the surviving Targaryens and we would have no way of knowing."

They remained where they were, in silence. Ned knew that of the three of them, Maege was likely suffering the most from this letter. As much as Ned cared about Jon, he'd only seen the boy a handful of times. Jon Umber followed because he was loyal to Ned, though he only cared about whether the king would lead Westeros to ruin or not. Maege, though, had given them Bethany. She had watched the young woman grow up, and had raised her as she would her own daughters. She may as well have given them one of her daughters, for how much she cared about the bastard girl.

"My lord?" The Greatjon asked him. Ned looked up from his hands. He took in the way the Greatjon appeared ready to act at a moment's notice, as if this were merely another battle they could simply fight and win. Maege hid her loss well, but Ned was more than familiar with the feeling. "What do you want us to do?"

Ned chose to answer the question truthfully. Lying to them might do more harm than good, and Ned did not wish to make this more unpleasant for them than he had to.

"I don't know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kinda dumb calling the different sections Acts, but I don't know what else to call them. Suggestions for the next chapter? Because I have ideas, but I'm not quite sure where to start (should I go back to King's Landing? Dorne? The Reach?? Where should I go?) I also feel like maybe having a Sand Snake chapter? The Sand Snakes and all of Dorne's plot in the show made me so angry and now I want to do more of Dorne. So basically, suggestions are good. And thank you to everyone that's given suggestions already.
> 
> Have a wonderful day and try not to get eaten by penguins!
> 
> [Tumblr](http://mosttulip.tumblr.com/). I warn you that I tend to reblog a lot of stuff without meaning to. Also, if you are a fan Jon/Dany, I'm considering maybe doing prompts?? Maybe?? Haven't decided yet.


	16. Arianne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She dreaded the day her suitor came, but a well of hope also rose inside her. She only needed to survive through the lord's stay, and then she would finally be able to begin setting her own plans in motion. The visit would be the perfect reason to leave, too. Arianne prayed it would be more than enough to convince her father to allow her to go. As distant as they were, her father was not cruel to her (at least, she hoped this was the case)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I'm sorry, I wrote smut. It's horrible. I'm sorry.
> 
> (Psst - this chapter is where we get our Explicit rating from)

A week's notice was all Arianne received before her next suitor arrived in Sunspear. Enraged, she had verged on storming out of the room, but reconsidered after a moment's pause. If Doran was not already aware of the contempt she held for all the lords he invited, he ignored it. Instead, she had graciously told him that she would prepare, and left. They had yet to speak to one another again.

Arianne was certain that, in the months following Oberyn's decision to bring her into their plotting, she and her father had become more distant (if such a thing were even possible). Days would go by where she would not see her father while he remained in Sunspear, and he spent more and more of his time in the Water Gardens. He had only recently returned when he had summoned her to discuss the impending suitor.

Knowing that it was all a sham did nothing to douse the fire of her anger. With each suitor, her father only insulted herself and Dorne more. Minor lord after minor lord was brought before her, each more prideful than the last. Doran thought this would draw attention away from their true intentions. Let the rest of the realm think them weak and foolish. Arianne disagreed. She was a princess of Dorne, and the best her father gave her was some small lord no one could bring themselves to care about? Adding to the growing burden, each suitor left just as insulted, if not more. They came, seeking to marry into one of the most powerful families in Westeros, only to be turned away like each before them.

She was certain this would leave them with more than a few enemies, but Doran apparently did not feel that way.

Regardless of how she felt about it, she said nothing to her father or uncle. Or to anyone, really. She had complained once or twice in the past, before she understood why. Now she feared saying anything else would leave a bigger mess. So Arianne said nothing, and suffered in silence.

She dreaded the day her suitor came, but a well of hope also rose inside her. She only needed to survive through the lord's stay, and then she would finally be able to begin setting her own plans in motion. The visit would be the perfect reason to leave, too. Arianne prayed it would be more than enough to convince her father to allow her to go. As distant as they were, her father was not cruel to her - at least, she hoped this was the case.

 

* * *

 

When Lord Walder Frey finally arrived, it was at the head of a rather pathetic procession. Because of his age and health, Lord Walder was forced to ride in a carriage, which had slowed their travel remarkably. Arianne had heard plenty of rumors, and it would not have surprised her if less than a fourth of every man that followed were not Lord Walder's offspring. She had been astonished to discover anything had reached Dorne. Of course she had heard of him, but she'd learned little, and she did not think a minor lord from the Riverlands would be of any such importance here.

An old, leering man, Walder Frey had made bile rise in Arianne's throat, and she had to use all of her willpower to keep from gagging when the man kissed her hand. It felt filthy, disgusting afterwards, and she had washed it several times before the evening meal. Even then, she did not think she would rid herself of that feeling for a long time.

The first meal they shared had been a loud, fairly joyous occasion, though Arianne could see even the Martell men were put off by those of House Frey. She shared their sentiment, though felt that it was infinitely worse when one had to be seated beside Lord Frey and his eldest sons - trueborn, for he had borne many a bastard that were present in the hall. They laughed and drank, and when Arianne left for her chambers, the feasting was still only half finished.

During the day, she was watched by their visitors. Their eyes trailed over her body, and they whispered lewd things to one another in her presence. She had long grown used to such things over the years and pushed such distractions to the back of her mind. No one dared touch her, thankfully, for they all understood that she was invaluable to their lord.

Still, they disrupted her state of mind, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything and everything. To make matters worse, her closest friends were either not present, or avoided being anywhere near her. She'd been informed that Tyene Sand left not long before their guests had reached Sunspear, much to her disappointment. Oberyn's squire, Daemon Sand, had been missing lately, although she imagined the presence of her potential husband left him feeling bitter. The subject of marriage was still a slightly sore one with him, especially now that they had reconnected.

By night, the Frey men drank their fill of Dornish wine and enjoyed the "exotic" food they would likely never taste again. Every night, fewer and fewer of her father's men joined them, and even less drank with the Frey men. Those that did usually came to regret it in the morning, she knew. She was left to suffer the men's now drunken gazing and joking, which was infinitely worse with their tongues loosened and their minds intoxicated.

Arianne endured half a month of this before their visitors decided it was time for an answer. She was spared, as her father might say, from being present at their gathering. While she had no wish to be near any of them, she was also profoundly offended that her father did not see her fit enough to be there when he told them no. And as predicted, Doran thanked them for their offer, and refused. She would have taken great joy in the sight of Lord Walder Frey's poorly hidden rage, had she been present. He had not dared to speak his mind before the Prince, in the capital of Dorne. But Lord Frey, unlike her father, did not take very well to being insulted in such a way.

Their last meal left Arianne with a light, excited feeling that blossomed in her chest. In the morning Lord Walder and his horrid men would leave. Then she would finally be free to act upon her own interests. It was the most open she had been the entire time their guests had stayed. She drank several glasses of wine herself, and by the time she decided to return to her rooms, was more than a little uncertain on her feet. It was a foolish mistake, one she would come to lament the next day. At the time, she did not care, as the others did.

Deciding she'd had enough for the night, she leaned over to her father. "May we speak tomorrow?" she asked him quietly. He gave her a single nod. Her already high spirits raised, she wished both her father and Lord Walder a good night, and rose to leave. Her uncle took her hand while she passed, and when she turned to him, grinned brightly at her. Raising an eyebrow, she took her hand back and proceeded to leave the hall. Whatever choices she made were her own, and she would not allow her uncle's judgement to bother her. Not that he meant it negatively.

Arianne did not truly remember making her way to her room, lost in the haze of excitement and anticipation at what the next day would bring. When she opened the door to her private rooms, however, she realized that she was not alone inside. Her back was turned to the chamber, although she could feel someone's eyes on her. Slowly she turned around, a part of her surprised by what she found, and the rest not surprised at all.

 _Ah,_ she thought. That _was what Oberyn had been hinting at._

"It took you long enough to find your way to my chambers again," she said, moving past her bed to her wardrobe. A mirror hung beside it, and in its reflection she could see Daemon Sand's eyes following her. He was naked, his lower half was covered by the sheets. His hands rested behind his head, and she wondered how long he had been sitting there. She hadn't seen him at the feast, although surely he hadn't waited that long?

He chuckled lightly, and replied, "I had some trouble with all the Frey men here. Now that they are gone, I've been able to get myself back to you. And by the gods, am I glad I did." His eyes had grown darker with lust, and his manhood bulged under her sheets. Her hair had been tied in a braid the entire evening, and she let it down. The dark locks flowed down her back and over her chest, and once her hair was free, she reached for her dress.

"I had wondered why you had been missing," she murmured, allowing the dress to pool at her feet. Only her smallclothes remained, and Daemon had begun to grow restless, she could see. In the reflection, she smirked back at him, amused by his agitation, before she turned around to face him. Teasingly slow, she approached the bed.

His impatience grew but he did not move from his position. He was cleaner than the last time she had seen him. Granted, it had been some days ago, and he had been on the training yard with her uncle. He'd had some stubble growing on his face. Now it was clean-shaven, and his hair had been cut too. When she reached him, she lifted one leg over his hip and straddled him. Beneath her, she could feel him, hot and hard. His hands gripped her waist, fingers pressing into her soft skin. He was only just holding himself back, and she took pleasure in the sight.

Arianne leaned forward, letting her lips brush against his ever so slightly. "You were jealous," she said, eyes half-lidded. She gave a slow rock of her hips. The corner of her mouth lifted at the soft groan that escaped from him.

"That tends to happen," he told her, beginning to move to her slow pace, "when I am reminded that you are to be married off to some lords that will never be able to truly appreciate you." His words were paused, broken. His breathing had become more erratic, his hold on her body even tighter.

Reaching down, she removed her smallclothes, tossing them away. Only the thin material of her sheets stood between them now, and Daemon was itching to remove them. She did not indulge him, preferring to torment him a while longer. "You think you know how to treat me best?"

"Perhaps," was his gasped answer. As the speed of her movement increased, so too did his desperation. He slid one of his hands up her back, coming to rest in between her shoulder blades. The other he slipped between her legs, rubbing against her clit, before finding where she was wet and pushing a finger inside. His mouth descended on her neck, biting lightly at the skin, kissing each mark.

"Perhaps," she agreed breathlessly, "though I very well doubt it. No one knows how best to treat me, not even you." If her words caused him any form of hurt, he did not show it in the slightest. Instead, he muffled his whimpers against her shoulder, on the verge of begging. Still, she waited until she heard the quiet "please" that fell from his lips. By then he had four fingers inside of her, and she was nearly as needy for it as him.

She lifted up enough to remove the sheets and free his cock. She lined him up to her, and began to slide down, as slowly as she dared. Daemon's hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, only just holding himself back from pushing the rest of the way in. It had been too long since the last time they'd been together, and neither had the will to hold back for much longer. She never broke her eyes from his, and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth when he was fully inside her.

They moved together, her riding him slowly at first, then faster, their pace building with their need for release. He felt hot inside her, filling her, and she moaned against his mouth. They weren't kissing, not so much as gasping into one anothers mouths.

Neither of them lasted very long. Daemon came with a quiet moan of her name. The feeling of his seed spilling inside of her had her walls clenching down, her own release taking her by surprise.

Afterwards, when they had both laid down to catch their breath, Daemon rolled on top of her. He kissed down her neck, sucked lightly on her breast until her nipple became hardened, down her stomach and stopped between her legs. He kissed her there, too, put his mouth against her. Arianne's fingers curled in his hair, gripping his head hard. She was panting, hips shifting restlessly, when he licked his way inside her.

In the morning, when Lord Frey and his men left Sunspear, and her father and uncle watched the procession leave, she would speak to the maester about obtaining some more moon tea.

 

* * *

 

Her father watched her, eyes skeptical. He did not trust her with much of anything, it seemed. Arianne had assumed it would be a simple matter of mentioning to her father that she wished to visit Quentyn, and she could arrange to see her youngest brother. Of course, she had been proven wrong.

Four days. _Four days_ her father had made her wait for even a simple audience. He sent his brother the day after the feast to inform her that no, he could not see her. He had important work, Oberyn had told her gently. Some of it, she knew, would be about Lord Frey's stay, and maybe even about the Lord Frey himself. After all, it was not just his men that had caused trouble. But four days?

And then, when he had finally welcomed her to speak with him, he had been distracted, listening to almost nothing she said to him. He had searched the table before him, looking over papers even as his heir spoke with him. Naturally, she had grown angry enough to snap, "Very well. I will leave for Yronwood on the morrow, _Father_." The last word she spit at him, and turned on her heel to leave.

"Arianne." It was a call to get her attention as much as it was an order. She stopped where she was, facing him with a blank face. Now his focus was fixed solely on her, and the open distrust stung a small part of her still. She pushed it to the back of her mind, though, and prepared to convince him of her reason.

She had considered leaving without speaking to her father already. Simply taking the horses and supplies needed, and riding off with Daemon for Yronwood. But she knew that would arouse her father's suspicions even more. No, she knew it would be best to see him about this. Oh, he would still wonder what she hoped to gain from this, what ulterior motive she had, if there was one. But this way was easier to give herself the anonymity she needed.

"Do you and your brother not write to one another?" he asked her carefully.

"Not often enough." She took small, deliberate steps forward. "You obviously intend to marry me soon, do you not? Trystane is here, I can see him every day. But Quentyn I have not seen for years. We are not as close as we once were. And I have been reminded that it may be an even longer time before I am able to see my brother again." She did not kneel before her father as she might have done to any other lord, to plead for her case. He knew her to be too headstrong to ever do such a thing sincerely.

He hid his emotions just as well as she, did not allow them to play across his face as easily as Oberyn did. But in his eyes she could see indecision. She knew he had to be turning over her request in his head, trying to find why she would come to him now, of all times, to ask this of him.

A few moments passed in silence before she added, "I do not think Lord Yronwood would take very kindly to Princess Arianne arriving with no warning beforehand. I imagine it would displease him greatly, however great an honor it would be to have the heir to Dorne stay with him for a while."

Again, her father said nothing in reply, but she was sure she had tipped the balance in her favor. He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing slightly, watching her intently for signs of her words being false.

He appeared to find nothing, for he said to her, "Very well. You may take a small number of guards with you, and I will send word to Lord Yronwood that he is to host my heir in several days." Doran rose from his chair, his movements slow and careful. Arianne could see the effort it took him to do this, and the times when he let some weakness show and he winced in pain. Soon the gout would prevent him from walking, the maester had told them. It would become too unbearable for him to do so, and he would be confined to a chair. She felt some sympathy for him, but they had known this for some time now. She was certain they had all come to terms with it.

"I will be returning to the Water Gardens soon." Her father's voice startled her, quieter this time. He had stepped nearer to her, though he did not stop by her side, instead continuing on past her.

"You intend to leave Oberyn to rule." It was not a question. Doran always gave rule to Oberyn when he left. If it left her feeling bitter, that was her own business.

Arianne was surprised, though, to hear her father say, "I would have you aid him. He would be in power, but I would like you to advise him." Never had she heard Doran ask her to do such a thing. While she often did rule with Oberyn when her father left, he had never expressed his wish for it. It had caught her off-guard, truly shocked by his request.

"I- of course, Father." She said it with complete honesty, a silent _thank you_ following. He nodded once and dismissed her, returning once again to his duties. She left his chambers, dazed by what had been asked of her. She felt like she had the night of Lord Frey's departure, her path unclear to her. Daemon had a hard time getting her attention when she returned to her rooms.

When she finally broke herself from the daze, she was reminded that, while it was a victory, it was a small one. There was much that had to be done before she could take a relieved breath.

"We're going to Yronwood," she told him, giddy with anticipation. She did her very best to block out the feeling, the voice in the back of her head, that said her father had perhaps given in too easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. This took for-freaking-ever, I know, and I'm sad and sorry, but this will probably be how long the updates tend to take from now on. I'm also going to be tweaking a few (probably most) of the chapters that come before, mostly for plot holes and general things.
> 
> But thank you guys for all the comments and kudos and everything. I know this chapter is a bit on the short side, so hopefully I'll get the next one out sooner.
> 
> You can find me [here](http://mosttulip.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> Up next: Jaime's POV

**Author's Note:**

> For housekeeping purposes, and so that everyone is aware, I tag all POV characters and a few that I deem to be of importance to the story (i.e. Lyanna Stark). Any content I think may be potentially triggering or upsetting or necessary I tag as well. If there is anything that someone feels I should tag please inform me. If anyone would prefer chapter specific warnings when there is any potentially harmful content, that can also be done. I don't plan to have an excessive amount of content that requires tagging or warning, but there have been and may occasionally be more.
> 
> Also, the delay in updates is due to many things, one of which is that I am attempting to go back and rewrite/clean up some earlier chapters. This story has not been abandoned and will be continued.


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